


I heard your blood, singing in its prison (and the sea sang with a murmur of light)

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood Play, Cersei is crass, F/F, Jon is 16 when the main events take place, M/M, Psychological Manipulation, R Plus L Equals J, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Theon never met the Starks, book!Euron (always book!Euron) as a blooddrinking pirate, kind of, like really bad things, lots of blood, lots of non and dub con, physical and verbal abuse, some gentleness in between
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 40,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Legend has it, there once was a dragon who fell in love with a wolf. But that's a sadder story.He still cannot remember his name, nor theirs, his family's. Nothing before the night of blood and horror.He's just Jon. Euron's Jon.But for now, Euron is far away.





	1. Introduction/Euron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [half_life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_life/gifts).



> Where to start...  
> This is completely different from anything else I've ever written and I have to confess I am pretty nervous as to how this'll be received.  
> So many bad things happening to the poor kid and here I am, making it worse. The sap has eluded me here! (for now)
> 
> A million thanks to half_life and for all your help, without you this a) wouldn't exist and b) wouldn't have a title, or tags or a summary.  
> Of course this fic is for you :)
> 
> ...at least I'm not killing any pets in this.

**_The Great Houses of Westeros and the Fall of the Dragons_ **

 

_The Dragons_

_Only the eldest child inherits the gene to feast on blood for greater strength. All babes born thereafter are human._

_The Lions_

_Only the male members of the Lion clan possess the active gene. In females it is passive, they are able to pass it on to their sons but are not blood drinkers themselves._

_The Stags_

_All Stags are blood drinkers once they have made their first kill. If they decide against feasting on their prey, the gene is never awakened._

_The Wolves_

_The Wolves have stopped drinking blood a long time ago. They still have the ability but do not use it, except in times of struggle. All Wolves are wargs._

_The Krakens._

_All male and female members are blood drinkers. The Krakens are known to be the most vicious, some exclusively living off blood as a diet._

_The Snakes_

_In this clan it’s exclusively the females who carry the gene. Their bite is venomous and they are sought after for breeding stronger blood drinkers in other lines._

_The Trouts_

_Only once every couple of generations, one member of this clan carries the gene. The last known blood drinker of the Trouts was Brynden the Blackfish._

_The Roses_

_Members of this clan are welcome in every other clan, for their blood is rich in power and strength. They are not blood drinkers themselves, but carry the gene._

 

_All blood drinkers age more slowly than humans, once they have reached maturity. They possess greater strength and heightened senses. They will not succumb to sickness, but can be killed._

 

_Humans can be turned into blood drinkers, but the success is never guaranteed. It requires a strong blood drinker to turn a human, and in ninety percent of the cases the human does not survive._

 

_After Rhaegar the Dragon had won the Battle of the Trident, he buried his father and executed the man who killed him, Jaime the Lion. Robert the Stag retreated to Storm’s End while Eddard the Wolf returned to Winterfell. Lyanna the Wolf was never heard of again._

_Five years after Rhaegar's victory, Tywin the Lion sought revenge for his son’s death. He made a pact with the Krakens, and Rhaegar and his family were slaughtered by Gregor the Dog, Tywin’s vassal._

_Rhaegar’s sister and brother escaped across the Narrow Sea, never to be heard of again. With Rhaegar’s and his daughter Rhaenys’ death, the blood of the Dragon was extinct from the line._

_Tywin the Lion was crowned King of Westeros, and for their help the Krakens were granted their autonomy. Balon the Kraken was voted King of the Iron Islands. Soon a family feud divided the Krakens, and Balon’s brother Euron left the Islands to become the most feared man across the seas._

 

**1\. Euron**

At first the dream was nothing new, just another in a long line of visions and glimpses of the future. Until he saw the boy. Pale skin with the faintest hint of red in his cheeks, dark hair he immediately knew he needed to feel under his fingers. Eyes of a startlingly deep brown, framed with thick, lush lashes. A mouth like a rose bud, full and pink and inviting.

The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He needed to find the boy, needed to have him. A human boy, no doubt, no sign of anything else. He’d even smelled him in his dream, a warm, delicious human scent. It would be a feast to drink his blood while placing his hands on those narrow hips, while letting them roam over the perfect creamy globes of the boy’s backside…

The prophecy had reached him later, after months of agonizing glimpses of the boy, always out of reach. _Legend has it, there once was a dragon who fell in love with a wolf. But that's a sadder story._ Half dragon, half wolf, a human boy. His boy.

The witch who’d approached him at a market had tried to warn him. _Beware, m’lord. Do not lay hands on the boy, for he will be the death of you._ He’d laughed her off. How should a mere human boy be dangerous to him, the mighty Kraken? And even if… a small voice in his mind, whispering at him.

_If death shall look like this, we will welcome it._

He looks at the bodies of the knights at his feet. They hadn’t been much of a match, not even the famous Sword of the Morning. He's still breathing, barely, still clinging to his pathetic life. A scream tears through the hot desert air, a woman in labour. The smell of blood is thick and mouthwatering. Euron grins and starts to climb the stairs, leading up to the tower looming over him.


	2. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, sixteen years after Euron entered the Tower of Joy.  
> And well. Poor Jon (you're gonna hear that often throughout this hellish thing).

Blood. So much of it. It’s one of the few things he remembers about that night, how much blood there was. Blood and his stepmother’s lifeless black eyes, broken and glassy. His sister’s head, cracked like an eggshell. His brother, smashed to a bloody pulp. He’s often wondered, why there was so much blood. 

Euron had told him it was the Lions who were responsible for all the death, for the horror of that night. Maybe the Lions don’t feast on blood like Krakens do. Maybe it had just been a sport to them, not hunger. 

Jon looks up from the net he’s mending. It’s a tiresome work, rough on his hands and hard on his back. It’s raining, thousands of tiny drops like needles biting into his bare skin, gushes of wind blowing them in his face. It hurts, and Jon shivers, from the cold as much as from the eyes watching him. It’s the prince, leaning against the wall under a little ledge, save from the rain. His pale eyes are watching Jon intently.

Jon casts his gaze down. He shouldn’t look at his face, it could be interpreted as insolence, and insolence makes them punish him. He looks at the prince’s boots, shivering again. Boots like this, wading carefully through the sea of bodies and blood, a pair of arms picking Jon up, safety at last. The last thing he’d seen before burying his face in his saviour’s neck had been his father’s long silver hair, matted with red. 

“You are cold.”

Not the voice of his saviour, not the man who had come to rescue Jon from the horrors. Jon bows his head slightly as an answer. Of course he’s cold. He’s always cold. The boots hesitate another moment before they step closer, a rustle of fabric as a thick wool blanket is draped over Jon’s shoulders. He’s too stunned to react, he lifts his head and watches the prince walk away.

It’s a kind gesture, unexpected but welcome. The only man on this wretched island to show him any kindness is long gone. His saviour. The prince’s uncle. He’d rescued Jon, had taken him here, had given him clothes and a new name when Jon couldn’t remember his. He still can’t, not his name, not theirs, his family’s. Nothing before the night of blood and horror. 

He’s just Jon. Euron’s Jon.

When he’s done with the nets his hands are red and raw, but Jon’s duties are far from over. Ever since Euron’s departure, the old king has treated Jon nearly as roughly as he would any slave the Krakens capture frequently on their raids. 

Jon reports to the guard on duty that the nets are done, then waits for the man to inspect them. When he looks up at Jon with a grin, he knows what’s coming. 

“This is very slatternly done, you stupid boy. I think…” His eyes roam up and down Jon’s body, making him feel filthy. “Yes,” the man continues, “I’d say you spend the rest of the day scrubbing the yard. And that,” he takes a step closer and tugs on Jon’s garment, “won’t be necessary while you’re at it.”

His cheeks burning with shame, Jon slips out of his garment, a skirt-like thing barely coming down to his knees. Naked, he drops to his knees on the hard stones and reaches for the bucket and brush the man shoves at him with a foot. 

Jon tries not to think of the man now standing behind him, he tries to focus on scrubbing one damp, salt-stained stone after the other. But the regular sweep of the brush cannot drown out the noises coming from the man, the panting and growling, the distinct fapping sound of skin against skin, of the man handling himself. 

Finally Jon hears a long last groan, then heavy footsteps coming closer. He shivers, ducking his head and scrubbing at the stones more vigorously, desperate to make himself small. 

“Clean that up, slut,” the man says before spitting on Jon’s back. The footsteps leave and are soon gone. Jon sniffles. Humiliated, he’s fighting back the tears as he turns on his knees and crawls over to where the man had been standing, wiping up his spilled seed. 

Though it happens frequently enough, every other day, Jon just cannot get used to it. He knows he should consider himself lucky, he’s seen what happens to some of the other slaves, the pretty ones. And Euron had always said Jon is pretty. 

But he’s never touched, never forced into a dark corner to have his mouth used by one of the guards, or even the fishermen. He’s never even been whipped for any failure of his, not once, despite them being plenty. Maybe Euron has forbidden it, Jon thinks and smiles. It would be like Euron very much, to look out for Jon even when he’s not here. 

“For the Drowned God’s sake, cover yourself.”

Jon looks up at the voice coming from the side. His prince is watching him again, his mouth pulled down in a disgusted frown. Mayhaps he doesn’t think Jon is pretty. Jon bows his head as he follows the prince’s order, glad to have something to cover his privates again. 

The prince snorts in disdain, sounding very much like the boy he was when Euron first brought Jon to the Island. Jon remembers him, a thin kid of ten years following Euron around like a puppy, poking his tongue out at Jon peering at him from his safe place in Euron’s arms.

Jon had shyly asked Euron who the boy was and why he was always looking at Jon so nastily. Euron had laughed and mussed his hair.  _ Just my silly nephew, you mustn’t mind him, my boy. You’re worth twenty of his kind.  _ Jon had smiled, trying to ignore the boy’s grimaces from then on.

After Euron had left him behind, Jon’s life changed drastically. His nice clothes were taken from him, he was thrown out of the chambers he’d shared with his saviour, they gave him rags to dress and a small room with nothing in it but a cot and a small shelf containing a cup and a plate.

One of the guards told him that from this day on he was to work, was to be a slave for the other Krakens. He didn’t believe him, shouted at him that Euron was never going to let this happen. The guard had slapped Jon’s face hard, sneering at him as he started crying in shock. No one had ever treated him like this. 

He didn’t get any food that night and on the next day, when he refused to leave his damp room to ‘go to work’, whatever that was supposed to mean, they dragged him before the King. And the King told him in uncertain terms, accompanied by many slaps, what his life was to look from this day on. 

“When Euron comes back he will hit you for this,” Jon had shouted at the King, not caring what they’d do to him for this insolence. The king had laughed. 

“Pray, boy. Pray that Euron will never lay eyes on you again.”

Jon had been dragged out, his gaze falling on the young prince’s face. It was smug, a triumphant grin on it. After three days without food they had come to get him, and from then on he had worked, all too soon grasping his new status. And Euron didn’t come back for him.

Now, as he watches his prince briskly walk away, Jon thinks how much he has changed. After his new life had begun, Jon had been prey to many of the prince’s pranks and nasty remarks. He’d only stopped when Damphair, the priest, caught him one day as he deliberately destroyed all the work Jon had done that day. Jon doesn’t know what he told the prince, but from this day he didn’t see much of him. Until the last few months. 

Jon sighs. Despite the prince being so horrible to him, he couldn’t help noticing how handsome the prince had gotten when he reached manhood, a good five years ago. He’s tall, his hair falling into his pale eyes in thick locks the colour of wet sand. He’s not Euron, but to Jon’s eyes he’s beautiful. 

“There he is, the little rat.”

Alarmed, Jon turns around. They’re three, and Jon knows them. Kyra, Betta and Jayk. Their eyes glitter, and Jon takes a step back, feeling the stone wall scrape against his bare skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say poor Jon already? Too bad. Poor Jon. 
> 
> So far I'm thinking of updating once a week from now on, depending on the reactions I get. I mean, it only gets so much worse :(


	3. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the first Theon POV!  
> I had kind of a hard time, imagining Theon's character when he's never been Ned's ward, never a hostage, always a prince (and a spoiled one at that)
> 
> He's still a douche tho :)

Angry with himself, Theon stalks away from the boy. He’s a prince of the Iron Islands, the only heir of King Balon the Kraken after his brothers’ mysterious death. He really shouldn’t go around looking at slave boys, no matter how pretty. No matter how mouthwatering. 

And that’s where the real problem lies. This particular slave boy smells utterly delicious. Worse even, he’s not any random slave Theon could just take into his chambers to drink his blood while having his body. 

First, he’s not up for grabs, his uncle had made himself very clear in this regard, knife to Balon’s throat as he’d given his parting orders. 

_No one touches the boy. No one marks the boy, no one wounds him, no one drinks from him. I’ll personally geld every man who dares to lay a hand on him. And I’ll gladly rip out every tongue that makes the same mistake as Victarion’s._

Theon was a boy of eleven when his uncle was exiled, but even then he knew, Euron was not to be trifled with. And the rumours about him in the ten years since his departure have grown worse with every retelling. Theon fervently hopes he never returns. Not because of him. Because of the boy. 

That’s another reason why Theon can’t just take the boy for himself, besides being too craven to ever face his uncle’s wrath. The reason is guilt. It’s been a few months now since he accidentally stumbled upon his uncle’s secret, the boy’s past. He told Asha of his findings, and as a woman she’d been even more appalled. But the slave boy still is of no interest to her, not like he is to Theon. 

What’s happened to him… what _will_ happen to him, should Euron return, all of it weighs heavy on Theon’s conscience. Too soft, he’s always been too soft. But as much as he’s intrigued by the boy, as horrified as he is by his fate - Theon values his tongue and manhood far too much to cross Euron. 

And as if that weren’t enough reasons not to meddle with the boy, let alone ever touch him, there’s one more. Because of Euron’s orders, _no_ one has ever touched the boy, although the men still manage to use him for their pleasure. It would be a lie to say that Theon has never thought about it, relieving himself while watching the boy, close enough to smell his scent…

No, the real problem is, Theon likes them willing. He has no fun taking someone by force, doesn’t like them crying or begging him to stop. He’s never wanting for company when he desires it, most of the slaves come into his bed all too eagerly, either promising themselves a way out of slave life, or simply being charmed by his looks and him being the prince. 

A cry tears Theon from his thoughts, without wanting to he turns back in the direction he’s just fleeing from. Another cry, panicked and pained, and before he’s made a conscious decision his feet are already taking him back, back to where the boy is screaming again now.

They are surrounding him, three of them, two girls and a young man, all wearing the typical slave attire. Theon knows one of the girls, a bounty Asha has brought from one of her raids in the Wolves’ territory. She’s warmed his bed on many a cold night, warm and soft and willing. Now she doesn’t look soft in the slightest, her hands clawed in the boy’s black curls. 

“It’s your fault the prince is not looking at me anymore! He hasn’t requested my company because he’s too busy staring at you!”

The boy’s face is red with pain as she keeps ripping at his hair. It’s a lovely red, warm, delicious, just like the blood Theon can see pulsing beneath the skin of his strained neck, like a faint glow. The girl is right, Theon acknowledges with no small amount of anger. His nights as of late have been filled with nothing but the boy, his days with seeking him out. 

“You never get taken!” the other girl hisses, nasty and bitter. Theon does know her face, she’s been reaped from a village down south, some fisherman’s daughter. The guards have taken a liking to her, owed to her ample bosom, and there’s rarely a day she hasn’t got duties to fulfill that the boy isn’t subjected to. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy whines, trying to move back, trying to get the girl’s hands off of him. 

Theon wonders why he doesn’t just twist her arm or something like this, he must be stronger than her. The young man now takes a step towards him. He’s not wearing a shirt, just the slave’s skirt, and his back is a mess of long, angry scars. He knows this one as well, a bastard from Saltcliffe. He’s not been taken, this is his punishment for slandering the king.

“They never give you a taste of the whip, you fucking rat! Why should you have it better than all of us?” 

Something is blinking in his hand, and suddenly Theon, up to now determined not to meddle with this, can’t stop himself from shouting out. 

“Enough!”

The girls surge around at the authoritative tone, but the man raises his hand, holding a small fish gutting knife, and rams it into the boy’s shoulder. Rage burning through him, Theon is with them in one step, his hand closing around the man’s throat as he lifts him from his feet.

“This’ll be the last thing you did on this island,” he snarls, squeezing the slave’s throat. “The next ship leaving will be yours, chained to the bow until the sun and sea leave nothing of you but dried out bones.”

He lets him fall to the ground where he’s coughing and wheezing. Theon watches him for a moment, disgust on his face, before turning to the girls, cowering under his glare.

“You,” he points to the guards’ favourite, “have just won yourself a month of latrine duty. And you, Kyra,” he turns his cold gaze on his former favourite, “will disappear into the kitchens and if I ever see any of you near me or the boy again, you’ll be given the same fate as this scum.”

With that he turns to the boy who’s crouching near the wall, pressing one hand to his bleeding shoulder. His eyes are wide and terrified, he’s shivering, his body shaken by dry sobs. Theon sighs.

“You…”

He opens the clasp of his cloak, thick, black velvet, and weighs the fabric in his hand for a moment, regretfully staring down at it. With another heavy sigh he bends down, noticing how the boy flinches at the sudden touch as Theon wraps the cloak around him.

“Try not to bleed on it, will you?” Theon growls as he moves one arm around the boy’s back, the other under his knees. Easily he picks him up and walks in the direction of the boy’s chamber, not in the slave quarters but a little further aside. 

“My best cloak,” he grumbles, glaring down on the frightened boy looking up at him in awe. “Don’t know why I’m even bothering, fucking hell - stop looking at me like that!!”

The boy casts his eyes down, a fresh wave of red painting his cheeks and Theon nearly lets go of him. The boy is way too close to him now, his heartbeat clearly audible, the smell of his fresh blood overwhelming. Theon wishes he had a free hand to pinch his nose.

Thankfully he reaches the boy’s chamber where he unceremoniously dumps him on his cot, turning to leave immediately.

“My prince…”

Theon stills at the boy’s meek voice. Slaves are not allowed to address the Krakens, the boy should know that. Curiosity has him turn back. What could be so important that the boy would risk punishment? He’s holding out Theon’s cloak with shaking hands, gaze cast down.

“Your cloak, my prince.” A shy glance from under thick, wet lashes and Theon’s chest tightens. “And… thank you. My prince.”

Theon feels himself going soft again. He sighs. “Wash that out for me. I want it back without any blood on it.” He pauses. “And take care to wash that wound. It’s not very deep, there shouldn’t be any scars.”

Which is only lucky. Theon wouldn’t want to be the one explaining to Euron why his precious possession is marred. Actually, he’s doing the man who did this a favour. Whatever Euron would do to him, it surely would be way worse than being tied to a ship until his death. 

As if the boy can read his thoughts he opens his mouth, hesitating before gathering his courage.

“My prince. I beg you not to punish the others. They were…” The last part is a whisper. “They are right. About me getting off easy all the time.”

If only the boy knew what his fate had in store for him… Theon shakes his head. Better not think of it. 

“I would… I would gladly take their place.” 

Now the boy’s eyes swim in tears again, and all Theon can think of is the boy taking the place of _one_ of them… Kyra’s place, in his bed. 

“They have it so much worse than I do, please, my prince, don’t punish them for their rightful wrath.”

Theon stares at the boy, his face determined despite the tears still flowing down his cheeks. Drowned God, he thinks, this boy… In this light it looks even worse, what will happen, that it will happen to someone this… good. There’s no other word for it. 

“As you wish,” he finally says, and immediately the boy smiles, a wide, watery smile. 

Theon forgets how to breathe. Fuck Euron, he suddenly thinks, fuck him. He’ll probably never come back anyway, so why not at least try to see if the boy… He swallows. Now he is playing with fire.

“Once your shoulder has healed I want to see you in my chambers. You’ll tend to my clothings, you’ll tidy the rooms. Understood?”

The boy nods, his smile already faded. He looks afraid.

“Yes, my prince.”


	4. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Euron's still away, so no poor Jon for this chapter. Okay, one time. Poor Jon.

His new duties are much lighter than mending nets or scratching moss out of the castles’ stones. All Jon has to do now is minding his prince’s overflowing wardrobe, keeping his chambers clean and tidy, preparing baths, bringing his prince food and drink… never any blood, and Jon wonders how long it’s been since he’s had any. 

He’s safer here, too, no more guards leering at him, only his prince.  _ His  _ look is much harder to read, wavering from cold disdain to hardly contained anger to a strange, deep gaze, intense and intrusive, as if he wants to stare all the way into Jon’s soul. It’s unnerving, and exciting. 

Sometimes the prince just watches him work, sometimes he leaves Jon alone, sometimes he orders him to talk. At first Jon doesn’t know what to talk about, but soon he just says whatever comes to his mind. And the prince listens, to the stories Jon has picked up from the fishermen, about mermaids and selkies and krakens deep down in the ocean. 

Sometimes Jon remembers other stories, from before his life here, before Euron. It’s strange how he remembers dragons and wars, but never his father’s name. Never his own. The prince never says anything to all these stories, he just listens, eyes light and solemn and strangely absent. Jon can’t help wondering what it is he thinks.

After his duties are done, the prince always gives Jon something. More food, food Jon is grateful for. The portions the slaves get are meagre, never really enough. He never eats everything himself, always leaves it for the others. He doesn’t need it, his duties are so much lighter now. They may hate him, now even more, but they eat the food.

When the nights get colder, the prince gives him a thick, soft blanket. He gives him books, and candles to read them. Jon doesn’t know when he learned to read, he already knew how to when Euron brought him here. The books consist of more stories, legends from the islands.

On the day it happens, Jon is tidying his prince’s shelves, letting his gaze roam over the books there, trying to decide what he’d want to read next. His prince is sitting behind him in a chair, his eyes burning into Jon’s back. 

“Just take whichever one you like,” he hears his prince say grudgingly, “but remember not to make any dog ears. Or I’ll cuff yours.”

Jon smiles, unerringly grabbing a thin book, ‘The Fields of Fire’. It’s always the dragons he’s fascinated with the most. Clutching the book to his chest, he frowns. Can he dare to ask? Or will his prince punish him? With a jolt he turns around, to find the prince behind him, not in his chair anymore. Jon can feel his cool breath on his face and shudders.

“Why are you so…” Jon searches for the right word. “Kind.” That’s it. “You treat me differently now.”

The prince seems uncomfortable, biting his lip and twisting his hands.

“I cannot tell you. There’s many reasons, and most of them aren’t meant for your ears.”

Jon accepts that. What other choice does he have? It’s not his place to question his prince. But he did say,  _ some _ are not meant for him. Maybe others are? He’s grown comfortable enough around his prince to not be afraid to ask. “Can you tell me one of them, my prince?”

The prince seems even more uncomfortable now, and Jon just knows, if he could, he’d blush. He also knows that this is a stupid, presumptuous thought. And an impossible one. He’s sure the prince hasn’t had any blood in a couple weeks, at least not since Jon is tending to him.

“It’s… embarrassing,” his prince finally answers, and Jon cannot believe what he’s hearing. The  _ prince  _ is  _ embarrassed?? _ Before he can commit the crime of asking, the prince continues. “You. Don’t laugh, alright? It’s your… your scent.” Jon just stares. “You started smelling different a while ago, now that you’re a man grown…” The prince’s eyes lighten. “You smell like the most delicious feast I’ve ever came upon.”

Jon knows he should be worried now, should ask to be dismissed and leave for the questionable safety of his chamber. Instead he feels curious, and a little flattered. The only one to ever make him a compliment had been Euron, a long time ago. 

_ Promise me, my boy. Promise you won’t let anyone taste your blood. It shall be mine alone when the time has come. My perfect, beautiful boy... _

Jon had promised. He’d have promised him anything. But now, this, his prince telling him that…  _ If he asks, I’ll let him, _ Jon thinks, surprised by his own reaction. He’s heard it hurts, when they bite you, but also that it’s the most extraordinary feeling imaginable. Jon feels extraordinary now.

“I can’t let you,” he blurts out, “I’ve promised to save it, and he can’t ever know I let you!”

The prince stares at him with wide eyes, his hands unconsciously reaching out. “Let me? You’d…  _ let me?” _

He sounds entirely disbelieving, a strange notion in Jon’s eyes. He’s his prince, his master, he wouldn’t even have to ask. He could just take him and dig his teeth into Jon’s neck and suck him dry before he even knows what’s happening. Instead he-

“Are you asking me?” Jon inquires, a little breathless. “Ask me?” The last words sound like an invitation, it is an invitation, and Jon holds his breath as he waits for what he hopes will come. 

“Will you let me taste you?” the prince asks, his gaze fixed on Jon’s lips. “Please.”

The prince has said please. His mind swirling, Jon closes his eyes. “Yes,” he mouths.

The room flies past him as he’s spun around and Jon drops the book as he lands on the prince’s recline, the impact should hurt but the prince’s arms are firmly wrapped around him. For a moment they both still, staring at each other. Jon is fascinated by the strands of gold around the prince’s pupils. He could look at them forever.

Slowly, mayhaps not to startle Jon, the prince bends his head, his mouth, towards Jon’s neck. Jon nearly panics. He cannot let him do it, he cannot break his promise to Euron, but he wants to know how it is… so, so much.

“What is wrong?” The prince has halted in his advance, concern now speaking from his eyes. “Are you afraid it’ll hurt? Don’t worry…” He pauses and, hesitantly, brushes one finger over Jon’s neck. “I can make it feel good. If you want me to.”

That’s not what Jon meant, but he finds he’s unable to protest, not with his skin still prickling where the prince’s cold touch brushed him. 

“Yes,” he whispers, “I want it. Only…” he interrupts himself again to swallow, his throat dry in anticipation, guilt… and fear. “He cannot ever know.”

The master blinks, then smiles, so brilliantly Jon’s heart leaps. He always thought his prince to be handsome, but now he looks nothing short of beautiful. 

“Then pick a spot,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a seductive drawl. Jon wonders if he’s even aware of it. “Tell me where.”

Jon thinks hard. There aren’t many places left on his body that are never seen by others, his arms and legs, his neck and chest and stomach are out of the question. There is one place… Jon blushes as he thinks of this possibility, wondering if it isn’t asked too much of his prince. Jon closes his eyes.

“My… the inside of my thigh.” 

A gasp above him has Jon look up, at his prince’s pale, beautiful face. There’s a different look on it now, hungry and wild. A primal fear suddenly fills Jon’s gut, but before he can take it back the prince has vanished, his cool breath washing over his chest, his stomach, over the fabric covering his groin, until it stops at his thigh. 

Without thinking, Jon spreads his legs, allowing the prince to reach the soft skin on the inside of his thighs. He hears him mumble something and lifts his upper body to see him. The prince’s eyes are closed, his lips nary an inch from Jon’s skin. He looks as if he’s in pain.

“The scent…” he says, his voice strained, and Jon immediately feels embarrassed again. What if he doesn’t smell good, down there, so near his private area. The prince all of a sudden presses his face to Jon’s skin, inhaling greedily. “I’ll try… I’ll try to go slow… make it good…”

Jon nods and leans back again, a tremble running through him as he awaits the pain of sharp teeth. Instead he feels something wet drag a line across his skin, followed by soft, cold lips latching onto it. Jon gasps as the prince starts to suck at his flesh, hard and relentless. 

To his horror Jon feels his member stirring to life, so near to his prince’s face and only covered by this inadequate cloth that’s his uniform, telling everyone of his status in the world. He whimpers in painful shame, his hands twitching to his crotch to hide it, this sin, this insolence in front of his prince. 

Too late, he has discovered it, or his hand has, firmly pressing down on this testimony of Jon’s disgrace while his wet, cool mouth sucks even harder. All of it feels delicious and crushing at once, Jon’s head falls back as he moans, his searching hands involuntarily finding purchase in the prince’s locks.

A growl, a flash of pain, then pleasure so intense his mind shatters into a thousand pieces as the prince’s teeth break the sensitive skin. Ecstasy, delirium, his blood flows, the prince’s tongue lapping it up, again and again brushing over the wound, until Jon’s body arches off the bed as his seed leaves his body in horrible, magnificent gushes. 

The prince’s mouth isn’t on him anymore. Jon squeezes his eyes shut, he’s gone too far, he deserves to be punished in any way the prince sees fit for this atrocity. He keeps still, awaiting a blow, a strike, a command. Nothing happens.

Soft, warm lips brush his, warm breath on his face, the taste of salt and iron as he opens his mouth and lets him in. What he is doing is entirely new, he’s seen others do it, has never dared to imagine it for himself. It’s unbecoming of his position. A slave should not want. He’s dreamed of being kissed before though, by a different man than the one who is kissing him now, but it feels good nonetheless, warm and good and…

“Delicious,” the prince murmurs against Jon’s mouth, his tongue outlining Jon’s lips. “So good.” 

A last small kiss, closed lips, a last brush of fingertips over his cheek, warmer now, and Jon is alone in his prince’s room, his thigh throbbing, his heart drumming, his garment sticky. He should get up, clean himself, then resume the duties he came here to carry out. Instead he rolls onto his side, feeling weak, and finally falls into an uneasy sleep. As every time, he dreams of Euron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you squint hard enough, you can see the sails of the _Silence_ appearing on the horizon. Not yet. But soon.


	5. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! How are y'all? Today's motto: Poor Theon!

Gently, Theon’s fingers glide over the pattern of scars, the oldest of them from just a handful of weeks ago, slowly beginning to fade. He takes great care never to bite the same spot twice, and never to bite too deep, but scars the boy will have. The boy who is now Jon to him.

He’s sleeping, outstretched on Theon’s recline, and after all he’s done to him Theon still can’t get enough of it, the taste, the warm softness of his skin under his lips and fingers. Can’t believe even now that he’s really allowed to touch, to drink.

The worries have faded, his fear of Euron’s return has vanished. He’s way too busy being the nightmare of the seas to come back anyway. And while Theon can’t imagine any human, man or woman, even half as pretty as Jon, Euron doesn’t know what he looks like now. And maybe he’s found another rare flower to keep him occupied.

Carefully, trying not to disturb Jon’s sleep, Theon rests his head against the boy’s leg. Which is a really bad idea, as it turns out. He inhales a shuddery breath, fully hit by a wave of Jon’s mind numbing scent. Without wanting to he noses at the soft skin, lets his tongue glide over the most recent bite.

It makes Jon stir, he blinks at Theon with sleep still clouding his gaze. One corner of his mouth goes up as his hand lazily wanders over the furs until it comes to rest on Theon’s head, his fingers carding through his hair. Theon’s eyes meet Jon’s and for a second there’s something hanging in the air between them, something…

It’s a strangely intimate moment, and it shatters when Jon looks aside, his cheeks flushing so delicate a colour, it’s all Theon can do not to sink his teeth into Jon’s pale flesh. Instead he contains himself with deeply breathing in and out, until he hears Jon sigh. Theon looks up at him, his pretty face more withdrawn again.

“You can if you are thirsty,” he says shyly. “I’m alright.”

Theon doesn’t need any more invitation than that, with nearly indecent haste he bites, the first drop touching his tongue tasting like the sweetest nectar. It’s hard to curb his draws, to not take too much. On their second time he did drink too long, had to keep Jon in his chambers for the night. Had watched him sleep, stroking his hair with featherlight touches, cursing himself for his foolishness.

So now he stops after a few gentle draws. Jon’s eyes are closed, he’s breathing heavily, and Theon smiles. It takes so little to make the boy shiver from head to toe, it’s rewarding, and infuriating. Slowly Theon licks across the fresh wound, teasingly nipping at the skin again before letting his mouth wander higher. All it takes is a few kisses to the top of Jon’s cock, a couple of strokes until the boy spills with a bitten-off shout, and with the taste of his blood still in the back of his throat, Theon lets go as well.

Feeling warm and satisfied, Theon stretches out beside Jon to kiss him, waiting for him to fall asleep again, or feel rested enough to resume his duties. When Jon doesn’t make a move to get up, Theon lets his eyes slide shut, letting his relaxation take over. Until suddenly there’s a touch so unexpected he surges up with an oath.

“What do you think you’re doing there??” he demands, staring incredulously at Jon who just proceeds to unlace Theon’s breeches. “Drowned God, will you stop?”

Jon’s hands pause, he lets his head drop, and through the veil of his hair hanging in his face Theon can see him biting his lip, cheeks red again.

“I’m sorry, my prince. I just thought…” With a determined gesture Jon flicks his hair back and looks at Theon, clearly embarrassed. “I thought I could return what you’ve given me so many times now.”

Theon is stunned. What he’s given him? The boy obviously has no idea how little it is Theon does for _him_ , and how much he gets in return. Of course, he is human, he doesn’t know the pure, sensual joy of drinking from someone, to feel the fresh blood surging through his system, setting every fibre of his body alive.

And to drink from someone this beautiful, from someone with blood of such singular taste… How can he tell the boy that he’s spilled in his breeches so often from this alone? Jon’s blood, Jon’s body, Jon’s noises and sighs - they’re enough.

Jon is still looking at him expectantly, his mouth forming a perfect, round pout, his hands still lingering on Theon’s pants. How glorious it would be to feel those hands, that mouth, on his cock, how delicious to drive himself deep into the boy’s body while he drags the blood from him...

“No,” he finally mutters, keeping his voice as annoyed as possible. “That’s not necessary. You can go now.”

The pout turns a shade more pronounced, the brows furrow over Jon’s dark eyes, hurt in his gaze. He scrambles up and off the bed, hastily picking up his garment and slipping into it.

“As you wish, my prince,” he mumbles before closing the door behind himself, leaving Theon alone with a feeling of regret.

But he stays determined, refusing Jon’s attention whenever the boy feels bold enough to try again. Theon wonders about himself. Is it still a latent fear of Euron that makes him hesitate? Why else would he deny himself this, to possess Jon in full, every part of him? Theon shakes his head. No. There must be more to it.

***

Jon’s warmth is still lingering in his bed, his scent clinging to every fur, every pillow. It gets harder and harder not to give in, after months of having him here, day after day. He’s taking Jon’s blood so often now, so regularly he’s constantly feeling it in him. As if the boy were part of him.

Theon presses his hand to the fur where Jon has lain, imagining for the millionth time how sweet it would be, how perfect, to make Jon really his. Would he want to be Theon’s? There are moments when Theon thinks he can see something in Jon’s eyes. Maybe he’ll forget Euron someday, but for now he’s still thinking of him, Theon can tell.

They’d talked about him, and Theon remembers how bright Jon’s eyes were shining, how sweet his smile had been when saying Euron’s name. Theon had to leave then, couldn’t stand it any moment longer. The certainty in Jon’s eyes, that Euron is his saviour. The absolute innocence, having no notion of Euron’s crimes. The love and adoration in his voice.

It hurts.

Outside his window a storm is raging, whipping the rain against the stone walls, and Theon drags another fur over his body. Does Jon have it warm enough in his little chamber? Maybe he should go and see if he needs another blanket, or company.

A horn starts to blare somewhere in the castle, sounding urgent despite being dampened by the raging winds and crashing waves. Theon sits up in the same moment as there’s a knock on his door. A guard, soaked from head to toe.

“I beg your pardon, my prince, your sister… You’re to join her in the throne room immediately, if you please.”

Cursing, Theon goes to dress himself as quick as he manages. When he ventures outside it’s like a plunge. Men are shouting, running around, not seeming to mind the rain lashing down on them or the gusts threatening to push them down. Lightning bolts tear the dark night sky in half and the thunder has Theon half deaf until he reaches the throne room, where his sister is pacing up and down.

“Asha, what-”

“Father fell,” she interrupts him harshly, turning to face him. “A guard saw him step onto the outer bridge. He never made it to the other castle.”

For a moment Theon can’t process what she’s saying. “Are you sure,” he finally manages, “have you…”

“Yes, _my king,_ ” she drawls, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “As sure as can be. The men are searching for him, but in this weather…” She sighs. “Can your coronation wait until we find the body?”

“Asha!!” Theon takes a step, another, until he reaches her and grips her shoulder. “Stop this crap, we need to keep looking, maybe he’s…”

“That won’t be necessary, dear nephew.”

The voice is coming from the shadows behind the Seastone chair, low and horribly familiar. Slowly Theon turns around.

“Uncle.”

He hasn’t changed at all.

“The sea will spit his corpse back like it always does.”

Euron grins, coming closer, too close for Theon’s liking. Beside him Asha tenses as Euron leans in to kiss her cheek.

“Dear Niece, as lovely as ever. Nephew. It’s been too long.”

His hand comes down on Theon’s shoulder, he laughs - and hesitates. Theon’s gut clenches in dread as Euron studies him intently, his nostrils flaring, as if he’s trying to sniff something out. After an agonizingly long moment he shakes his head.

“Once we find my poor brother’s body…” The grin is back, wild and crazy. “...we will have a kingsmoot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. Here he is. But Friday will be Euron POV, brace yourselves. >_<


	6. Euron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek! Euron POV is crazy to write, and a little disturbing. 
> 
> Also, I actually wanted to post on Friday but I'm having a meh day and thought why not get it out :p

Drowning is a beautiful death. At first he still fights it, refusing to take the needed breath. Only when the darkness threatens to creep in from the edges into his mind he lets go, he opens his mouth and lets the sea flood his lungs, his veins, his soul. 

The salt in the water burns his throat, rising into his nose, until there’s no more air left at all, until the pain gets overwhelming and he submits to Death with silent laughter, welcoming him like an old friend. Until the tides turn, until the Drowned God awakens within him with a roar, until Death retreats, head bowed in awe before this new, dreadful god. 

Recuperating from the ritual takes Euron longer than he wishes to confess, and once he’s as much the master of his senses as he ever was, the first feeling is pure, undiluted rage. His kin, his own flesh and blood has betrayed him, mutiny and blasphemy, has taken the best ship of the Iron Fleet to God knows where. 

A glimpse of silver hair, of violet eyes and smoke and ashes, and Euron knows where they are fleeing, his fiery niece and her worthless brother. A cruel smile is playing around his lips. Dragons. How fitting. He’s met her, the last Dragon, on his journeys. Has made her an offer no woman or man alive has ever dared to refuse, and yet she did. It will be sweet, the payment of this debt. 

Aeron is waiting, the Thriftwood Crown in his hands. Slowly Euron sinks to his knees in front of his brother, and as Aeron places the crown on his damp, salt-streaked hair Euron deliberately licks his lips, shoves his eye patch aside - and winks. For a moment Aeron seems to be frozen in place, but then he swallows, arranging his face into a blank expression. Euron has to hand it to him, his hands barely shake as he touches Euron’s forehead, declaring him the king. 

The ceremony seems to last an eternity, and Euron keeps himself entertained by imagining how he’ll see his boy so very soon, finally getting what he’s been craving for sixteen years. Will he be as sweet as his dreams have made him believe? Euron doesn’t doubt it. His dreams are never wrong. 

Between endless rambling, Drowned God this, Drowned God that, Euron thinks of the last time he’s been able to have something he really wants. A flower, in full bloom, as poisonous as a woman can be, entertaining and enticing. Oh, how he’s enjoyed her, her ample bosom, her wicked sense of humour… 

But too much cream makes a man feel overly sated very soon, and when the cream turns sour… It made him long for his boy even more, for the purity, the innocence. Falia had been entertaining while it lasted, he’s not going to miss her too much. Not when he finally has his boy.

Oh, and  _ how  _ he will have him, in any way that’s humanly possible, and in any other. He needs to possess the boy’s soul. While man after man is swearing him fealty, Euron’s thoughts wander ahead. Not long now. 

Not long until he will wind his fingers into his boy’s hair, until he’ll rip his head back to expose his throat. Euron can see it clearly, how it will move when his boy swallows, not him, not yet. But he  _ will  _ see his throat bulging, soon, when he’ll slide his cock deep into his boy’s perfect mouth, when he’ll wrap his hands around the neck to feel himself moving in and out…

But not before he’s finally tasted him, has finally gotten his first fill of the most delicious liquid imaginable. His cock is stirring to life as Euron contemplates where he’ll bury his teeth first, the collarbone, the hip, the neck… Endless possibilities, and he’s determined to sample them all, one after one. 

And then, when the blood is wetting his throat, is soaring through his veins, that’s when he will take his boy’s maidenhood, when he’ll skewer him fully on his cock, deeper and deeper until he fills his boy’s every nook. And when he’s opened him up as much as he possibly can…

He can almost feel it already, the tight heat enveloping him, only him, the first and the last to possess his boy thus, over and over again until he’s a whimpering mess to Euron’s feet… Euron growls, one hand rubbing his straining cock through his breeches, his seed already spoiling the soft, worn leather. He will drag his boy’s face against it, have him suck it clean before parting those soft, plush lips…

He notices Aeron giving him side glances, beads of sweat on his lined forehead, a haunted look in his eyes. Euron nearly laughs out loud at his brother’s obvious discomfort, with one swift move he frees his cock and displays it in all its glory.

“Getting nostalgic, brother?” He chuckles, a deceptively soft sound. “I’m sorry to inform you, there’s nothing for you here. If you’ll excuse me now…” Carelessly he tugs himself away again and rises to his feet. “I can’t possibly keep my Jon waiting any longer.”

He doesn’t have to search for him long, as if his boy’s blood is singing to him, drawing him like being pulled on a string. It’s not something he deems comfortable, strings, bonds, but being tied to his boy - his boy being tied to  _ him _ \- is of a strange, particular beauty. 

The first glimpse sets his body alive, his cock hardening even more. After all those years, after all those dreams and visions… there he is, more beautiful, more perfect than the clearest image could’ve conveyed. He takes Euron’s breath away. 

For a moment his chest tightens, a strange notion possessing him, flickering through him, before being gone again. Euron tries to trace it, identify it. It’s nothing he knows, nothing he’s experienced before. He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. He’s come to pillage and reave, to plunder and seize. 

He lets his eyes roam over the boy, his boy. His skin is pale like the foam on the waves, unmarked, unclaimed, subtly luminous to Euron’s eyes, wherever he sees the flow of his blood underneath. He’s not tall, of a perfect height to drop to his knees before Euron, of a perfect build to be arranged into whatever position Euron wants him in. 

His figure is slender, toned from the hard labour Balon already had to answer for, lean and taut, and still so invitingly, humanly soft. Euron’s gaze follows the line from his feet up his calves, his thighs, over the parts the garment covers, a firm stomach and a hairless chest. He watches his boy’s hair flying around his face, covering it then revealing its beauty once again. 

“My king.” 

A low voice in his back has Euron turn around. Whoever dares to disturb him now, it better be important or they’ll never use their tongue again. The guard before him looks nervous.

“A boat, my king. The pr- your nephew. We captured him as he tried to sneak ashore.”

Ah. Little Theon is back it seems. What for? A pressing matter indeed. Reluctantly, Euron glances back over his shoulder, at his boy standing there, eyes glued to the horizon, like a maiden praying for her beloved’s return. With a wave of his hand Euron dismisses the man.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates could get a little less frequent from next week - I'll do my best tho!


	7. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the weekend, I'm lazing around and it's bloody hot, AND I've had a great run these last days with writing/fleshing out more of the next chapters, so. 
> 
> REUNION. In all its gore/glory.
> 
> Also, warning for this chapter, read the main tags -.-

The sea is rough today, a remnant of the storm last night. Jon likes it, the high waves, the wind whipping the hair around his head, the gulls screeching as they dive into the grey water, grey as the sky above, grey and bleak and beautiful.

He’s standing on one of the drawbridges connecting Pyke’s three castles, alone. It’s a peculiar morning, hardly any people are out. No one had woken him, no one had come to get him, and his prince hasn’t called for him. He’s not seen him all day, a strange occurrence these past months, and Jon feels a spark of worry flash inside him. He enjoys his time with the prince, very much so. What if he grew tired of Jon?

He remembers the commotion at night, horns blaring and men shouting, chaos outside of his door. No one had come to rouse him, so Jon had stayed put, wondering. Maybe something has happened, something that requires the prince’s presence now. Something more important than him. Jon knows he should not be greedy. 

A gull sailing dangerously near to his head rips Jon out of his thoughts, he ducks and curses the wretched bird for scaring him like that. After all these years on this island, he’s still not used to their aggressiveness.

“You do good when you’re careful. Gulls can take a man’s eye out.”

Jon grows very still then, as he hears the familiar voice in his back. He hardly dares to breathe, afraid it’s a vision the Drowned God has sent to torment him. Slowly, carefully he turns around to look at the man standing at the door to the inner castle. One blue eye is sparkling at him, the other concealed behind a black patch. 

Jon takes a step, another, then he’s running, heedless of the bridge swaying dangerously beneath his feet, his only thought the man before him. Jon crushes into him so hard anyone else would have toppled over, but not Euron. His arms wrap around Jon as he buries his face in Euron’s neck.

He’s laughing and sobbing, clinging to Euron with all his might, scarcely believing he’s really there, that he can really feel him, smell his distinctive scent. He smells of damp wood, of salt and the wind, a hint of something sweet and sharp at once underneath. 

Carefully, Euron disentangles Jon’s hands from his neck, looking at his face with an indescribable expression. One of his large hands cradles the back of Jon’s skull, his bluish lips stretch into a wide grin and his eye sparkles.

“I have missed you, my boy.”

Jon knows what’s coming and oh, how he wants it, has maybe wanted it since he’d been old enough to want, and finally it does come true. He tilts his head and closes his eyes as Euron claims his mouth.

It’s so very different from the kisses he shared with his prince, so very different a sensation. Where his prince’s lips had been soft, his tongue nimble and careful, Euron kisses hard, plunders him, makes his whole body hum. A groan, sudden pain, his mouth fills with blood as Euron bites his tongue, so much blood and all for Euron.

“Have you come for me,” Jon gasps when he can speak again, “am I to go with you?”

Euron’s laugh makes him uncomfortable, though he cannot say why. He used to love it, back then, when it was his most favourite sound in the world. He’d have done anything to hear it again, all those lonely years. Now it makes his skin prickle, like a warning he has no mind to heed.

“I came to stay for a while, my boy. I’ve some business to finish here before I go elsewhere. Can you wait for a few more hours?” Euron gently pats Jon’s cheek, smiling again. “Go to your room. I’ll come to you once I am done.” 

“I’ve waited for ten years,” Jon replies solemnly. “I can wait a few more hours.”

With a last kiss to Jon’s forehead, Euron leaves him, and Jon is alone again. He retreats to his chamber, fussing with his hair and his garment in a desperate attempt to look his best when Euron finally comes to… to… Jon has no idea what will happen, how it will happen. 

He knows some things, and his prince has shown him some more, bittersweet things that made Jon unsure if it was pleasure or anguish that made his heart burst in his chest and his pulse race. Things that had him spill his seed many times, but never had his prince allowed him to reciprocate.

If Euron should want to do these things to him, he would want to touch him back. He wanted to touch his prince but he’d never let him. 

_ Are you kidding me? Don’t tempt me. I will not take any more advantage of you. It’s bad as it is, all you’re giving me. Not bad, I mean… shut up. _

Sometimes Jon had wanted it, his prince to take advantage of him, do everything to him there is, make him feel even better than he already did. He wishes the same of Euron now, and more. He longs to be his in any way possible, whatever this entails. 

Jon is worried, a little, about the dozens of scars littering the inside of his thighs. Some are a few months old, already faded into white marks, some are still an angry red, the bite marks from two days ago haven’t yet healed. But surely Euron can’t begrudge him this, the pleasure it caused him and the pleasure it has caused his prince. After all he’s Euron’s kin, his nephew and future king. 

And he hadn’t ever hurt Jon, not in any way he didn’t want. He’d made him feel good. Jon knows it will be even better with Euron. After all he’s the man he’s been waiting for, so long, so desperate. He cannot wait to feel his hands, his teeth. 

Night has long arrived when the door to Jon’s room swings open. Jon holds his breath. Euron looks every inch a king, an iron king, where Balon Greyjoy is old and bitter and miserly. Euron’s long hair is braided, the braid hanging down between his shoulder blades. 

He’s wearing black pants, tight, worn leather, tucked into his boots. His linen shirt, stained with red splashes, is open at the front, showing a sparsely furred chest, defined muscles, he’s a man the way the prince will never be, and Jon trembles in anticipation - and fear. 

Euron’s smile is brilliant, white teeth sparkling as he takes the sight in. Jon is sitting on the edge of his cot, knees pressed tightly together, his arms wrapped around them as he regards Euron nervously. He follows every move the man makes, his body preparing for flight while his heart beats in his chest. He will not flee. This is the man he wants, finally come to make him his, to make him a man too. 

“I would’ve thought you’d be waiting without these…” Euron gestures at Jon’s garment, “...rags. You must know what I want of you, my boy.”

Jon nods, unable to speak. He knows - or thinks he knows. Euron wants, foremost, his blood. And do things to him. Jon hopes he’ll do this thing his prince once did, which had felt better than anything else, with his mouth. He’d even asked him to bite him there, but the prince had declined. 

_ I would never have this part of you marred. It is perfection as it is, round and white and pert. I wish I could… _

His prince has never told him what it was he wished he could do, hasn’t touched him there since. Only his front, a part of the biting, covering his member with his mouth still laced with Jon’s blood, sucking at him in new, devastating ways that left Jon unable to breathe.

Will Euron do that to him? Will he taste him in any way possible? Aroused by the mere thought, Jon shuffles out of his garment, revealing himself stiff and aching and ready for whatever is to be dealt to him. Euron’s gaze takes him in greedily, finally falling on that place between Jon’s legs where the ache is most present.

Euron’s smile vanishes.

Jon feels cold.

The world goes black.

***

When he comes to for the second time, his only conscious thought is pain. Pain in his jaw, where Euron’s fist has smashed into him. Pain in his ribs, where Euron’s boot has stomped on him. Pain in his rear, where Euron has done things Jon didn’t know were possible. 

The worst pain of all is the one in his chest, where his heart used to be. He’d waited, Euron, for Jon to regain consciousness, before doing these things to him. Before hissing curses at him, before spitting in his face and on his rear, before tearing him in half. 

_ Spoiled! Defiled! You were supposed to be mine! Did you enjoy it, my nephew’s little prick in your tight virgin hole, you fucking little slut?! Stop crying, you filthy whore, or I’ll give you a real reason to! I’ll reclaim you, boy, you’ll see. Now open your pretty mouth and scream for me! _

And Jon had obliged. His throat is raw and sore from it, his eyes swollen from the tears he’d been unable to stop. His own fault. His own doing. If he’d been better, if he’d been good, if he’d kept his promise, Euron wouldn’t be mad at him. Euron would still love him. 

_ He’ll pay for laying his weakling hands on you, I swear by the Drowned God I will personally make him pay, and a lot more than he already has! _

Another pain, deep in his gut, his insides coiling in worry, in fear for his prince’s life. None of it has been his fault, Jon is the one to blame, not the prince. He’d tried, telling Euron, screaming it out between his sobs, that the prince has never touched him thus except with his mouth, but Euron hadn’t believed him. If anything, it had heightened his rage, quickened his thrusts, tightened the grip of his hand in Jon’s hair.

He’s shaking now, his body twisted in pain and guilt. He has to try, he has to show Euron he’s his alone, he has to do anything Euron wants. Euron  _ has _ to love him back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon.  
> POOR JON.
> 
> Okay, now as a chorus: One, Two, all together: 
> 
> POOR JON!


	8. Asha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's welcome a new member to the POV gang!
> 
> I hope I've done her justice, I love Yara/Asha :)

Fucking idiot. Pathetic moron. Horny bastard. Suicidal dimwit. Unreasonable asshole.

Repeating her litany of insults over and over again, Asha still hasn’t moved away from the _Black Wind’s_ stern, even though the little boat containing her fucking halfwit of a brother has long vanished. As has Pyke, and the Iron Islands. She still stares back.

Good thing she isn’t needed at the moment. Yes, she’s the captain, but they usually manage fine whenever she decides to sleep or drink or fuck someone in her quarters. Never one of her men though. Her crew is a good one, the men experienced, knowing all the dodges. They breathe the sea, are the salt in the water, and most importantly, they would die for her. As she for them. And Theon for a random slave boy, apparently.

She doesn’t understand. She just doesn’t see the same thing in that boy that her brother - and before him their uncle - sees. Yes, he is undeniably very pretty. A beautiful face, hair any girl would kill for - not she, obviously, her own is worse enough when cropped short - and he does smell particularly nice.

Asha sighs. Admittedly, should the boy ever have crawled in her bed on accident she sure as fuck wouldn’t have told him to piss off again, but he’s definitely not worth crossing Euron. Even Pyke is not worth crossing Euron, she doesn’t like it half as much as her other uncle’s seat, Ten Towers. This is about principle. It’s _hers._

Well, Theon’s. If one wants to be correct, but why should one want that? Theon isn’t cut out to lead the Krakens, not like she is. And while she has been sailing and reaving and pillaging the shores, Theon’s done… what? Having every seamstress on the islands sewing her fingers bloody and lusting after a slave boy.

No. That’s unfair. Asha knows very well how well a seaman her brother can be when he wants to. He’d be a good Lord Reaper, and together they would be perfect, brother and sister. Theon is no idiot. He knows the sea, knows the waves and what lurks beneath. Otherwise she would never have let him take that dinghy back to Pyke. He’ll make it just fine. Her stomach tightens. And when he gets there? When Euron gets him?

Asha knows everything that’s happened. What Euron is capable of when it comes to that boy. And Theon… he’s gotten himself way too involved with him, has touched him too much, drained him too much. Not that Asha is concerned about the boy, she’s seen him leaving her brother’s chambers on many an occasion. He always looked satisfied enough, if a little wobbly on his feet.

No, it’s the thoughts of Theon that make her grit her teeth as her insides are coiling in dread. She thinks back of Euron’s face when he’d greeted them, greeted Theon to be exact. How he’d paused, sniffed, like a bloodhound scenting a trail of its prey. She shivers. Theon fucking _reeks_ of the boy.

Normally the Drowned God can’t be really counted as one of her friends - one of the reasons the kingsmoot went like it did, apart from her having a cunt - but now Asha can barely stop from praying.

 _Please, bring my brother out of this alive. And,_ she adds with an edge of sarcasm to her thoughts, _with all his parts still intact._

Really, she doesn’t even _want_ to imagine the bitching that’d ensue if Theon were to lose his precious cock. And, if she’s being honest with herself, she’d be the same, were she in possession of one. Not that she hasn’t made it through life so far perfectly fine without one, just…

With a sigh Asha turns away from the horizon, walking across the deck and going below. A little rest can’t hurt, she needs to prepare for the meeting with the Dragon. Needs to think about how to propose her. And _what_ exactly to propose her. She’s heard Daenerys is beautiful, her appearance as much that of a Dragon as her temper.

Asha tries to remember the books about lineage her uncle Rodrik made her read when she was younger. Silver hair, purple eyes. Or was it violet? Asha can’t remember, but then she’ll see for herself soon. Must’ve looked good, the Dragon Queen’s brother, the slave boy’s father.

If what Theon has told her is true, after he’d found Victarion’s logbook… it should be a sufficient reason enough for Queen Daenerys to sail to her nephew’s aid. Her _nephew_. Rhaegar’s son. The son of the Dragon and the Wolf.

He doesn’t look a Dragon at all, that slave boy. His hair isn’t silver, it’s the darkest of browns imaginable, near black, but not quite. His eyes are dark too, brown or black or a very dark grey, not that Asha has ever really looked at them.

She’s curious if he looks like the Wolves. He must. Long-faced, dark-haired shadows … said that book. The Dragon and the Wolf.

What a load of shit.

As far as Asha knows the story, everything could’ve gone vastly different if one of them, Dragon or Wolf, had just opened their bloody mouth and fucking _told_ someone about their _love._ Asha sneers. No, they needed to be dramatic and _spectacular_ , causing a war and thousands of deaths.

And worse - they helped creating the monster her uncle has become, by creating the creature driving him deeper into madness. She’s seen it, in his eye, the crazed, unsated lust, waiting to unload. All over the boy her brother isn’t able to leave behind.

Enough, Asha thinks, it’s no use to sit around and bite her fingernails down to the quick while imagining the thousands of horrors Theon might be experiencing at Euron’s hands right now. Resolutely, Asha lets her thoughts wander ahead, to the Bay of Dragons, as Slaver’s Bay is called these days.

She’s heard another rumour, that the Queen, although not having the activated gene herself, was turned into a blood drinker by her first husband. Horse blood drinkers. Asha snorts. Horses. She’s not that big on them, of course she can ride, but one end bites and the other kicks, and a ship is much more reliable than any living creature anyway.

She’ll have to ask her, how it feels like to be human. Especially how it felt like to be of such an old blood drinking clan and not being one herself. Asha can’t imagine it. There’s worse fates though. In some of the other clans, women never are. They’re confined to sitting around doe-eyed, to bear children for some man’s pride and claim, never fit to rule themselves… A dreadful fate.

And even the last Dragon only became Queen after her brothers, her nieces and nephews, were all gone, dead and dust. All but one. How will she react? The boy is as human as can be, he’ll never be a king.

And Asha won’t ever be Queen, unless her baby brother dies. In this case… She opens a flask of wine, taking a long draw. Being Queen is possibly overrated, anyway.


	9. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go again. *deep breath* POOR JON!!! *whisper* poor theon
> 
> WARNING so much noncon. Or dubious noncon? I have no idea.

Jon feels cold. He’s got no clothes on him, as always in his king’s presence. Euron doesn’t like seeing Jon dressed. He’s not allowed to look at his king, except when the king wishes to use his mouth. He’s been told to look into his king’s eye then, and Jon does, desperately searching for  _ something _ , a tiny flicker of love to give him hope. There never is, not when they are in company.

He’s not allowed to look at his prince either, is not allowed to call him that, or master, anymore. The king says he’s lower than Jon now, not even fit to be used for his appetite. It’s only Jon he wants, only Jon he uses. It’s good, it’s right. Jon does not wish to burden his prince with Euron. And he wants Euron to only want him, no one but him.

He sneaks a glance at his king, he cannot help it. How glorious he looks, lounging on the Seastone Chair covered with nothing but a large brown pelt, a wolf’s pelt. There are stains on it, old, dried stains. His body is a marvel, hard muscles and tanned skin, his legs long, the thighs firm and strong. One of his large hands is toying with Jon’s curls while the other holds an ornate silver cup, filled with Shade of the Evening, and Jon’s blood. The mix turns his lips blue, makes his mind both sharp and mad, and his lust feral. 

The grip on his hair tightens painfully and Jon knows what’s expected of him, he turns his head towards his king, opens his mouth and looks up. The king’s blue eye is sparkling, his mouth stretched into a lewd smile as he slides his thick cock between Jon’s waiting lips. 

He tries to anticipate how his king wants it this time, if he wants Jon to gag or not, if he wants him to pretend to enjoy it or not, if he wants him to cry or moan, but no matter what he does it’s wrong, earning him more lashes as the day passes by. So far he’ll get eight, but there’s been no day he takes less than fifteen in the evening. 

Euron doesn’t strike him hard, not hard enough to tear his skin at least, but it still aches and makes his back stiff and tender. Jon accepts it gladly, this punishment for his wrongdoing, for afterwards… Afterwards he’s loved. It doesn’t happen every night, only when Euron wants to drink of him, every couple of days, but when it happens… 

It lets Jon nearly forget the pain, he forgets how he’s going to be treated again come morning, forgets everything when he’s in Euron’s arms, with Euron’s mouth latching onto his neck, the ends of his hair brushing his skin. He’s gentle then, as far as Euron can be, stroking Jon’s face, kissing him hard and greedily, whispering to Jon between long draws that make him feel dizzy and exhausted. 

_ My beautiful, perfect boy, so pretty, so delicious, I wish I could taste you every day, I wish I could drink every last drop in your body to make you truly mine, my lovely Jon. _

It’s so good to hear those words, they make Jon happy, make him feel that Euron does indeed love him. Jon clings to Euron in these moments, wishing the gentleness will never end, but it always does, and Jon makes another pledge to himself, to be better, to be worthy. 

After these nights he’s confined to the bed, as he’s otherwise confined to his place beside the Seastone Chair, is fed like a goose being prepared for a feast, only the best, so much of it he cannot see food anymore. If he doesn’t eat, they force him. He doesn’t see Euron at all these days, and never does he feel lonelier.

“Turn around.”

The command is simple and Jon doesn’t fight it, despite the pain he knows will come, despite the raw ache it leaves him in for hours, he props himself up on all fours, his backside turned towards his king, waiting for his king’s cock to split him in two. That’s what lovers do. They fuck.

There’s no preparation, nothing that would make it smoother, nothing to ease his king’s way into Jon’s body. He lets his head hang low, trying to bite back the screams threatening to escape his sore throat. It’s impossible to keep quiet for long, it hurts too much, his king drilling into him with brutal force while he can feel the other men’s eyes on him, hot and greedy.

One pair of eyes burns the hottest, pale blue, their expression impossible to decipher. Jon stares back, unable to look away, unable to drop his gaze from his prince’s contorted face. He’s on his knees, his hands are tied behind his back and he cannot move, forced to watch the king fucking Jon. When the prince closes his eyes, his guard slaps him into opening them again.

There’s pain and anger on his face, but also defeat. He doesn’t fight, wouldn’t fight Euron. Not for himself, not for Jon. Jon feels stupid, incredibly so, for having thought about such a thing when all of this had started. Why would his prince risk his life for a slave he just happened to enjoy for a time? 

Jon still keeps staring at him, not knowing his own thoughts anymore.  _ Help me. Make it stop. I need you to help me. Take me in your arms like you did before.  _ But there’s other thoughts, overriding the blasphemous ones.  _ Don’t challenge Euron. He’s our king and I love him. Don’t do anything. Let me live and die at his hands. Let me be his. _

Their eyes lock and for a moment it’s as if he could read Jon’s thoughts, Jon can see him writhing against his restraints, as if he means to reach out to him. The prince’s guard only laughs, hitting him over the head with the butt of his dirk, and the prince groans in pain. A whimper, the first today, escapes Jon’s mouth as he sees his prince’s blood trickle down his temple.

The cock tearing into him is gone so of a sudden, Jon would’ve fallen over if it wasn’t for the harsh hand in his hair, ripping his head back. Euron’s other hand closes around Jon’s throat, squeezing hard. 

“Now look at that,” he hisses, menace in his voice. He’s jealous, Jon knows that. He’s jealous of everyone. “My nephew can’t seem to hold back anymore at the sight of you.” His quiet laugh makes Jon’s skin crawl. “Let’s give him a taste, shall we?”

Jon doesn’t understand.  _ He doesn’t understand!!  _ What does he mean, what is the purpose of Euron’s words? He cannot want to have the prince near Jon, wasn’t that what made him so angry in the first place?

“Come here, little Theon,” Euron coos in a dreadful singsong voice, curling his fingers invitingly. “Come here and join our fun.” When the prince doesn’t move, eyes wide in shock, Euron sighs dramatically. “Dagmer, be so kind to bring me my nephew.”

The prince is dragged over to where Jon is cowering. Euron grabs him by the scruff of his neck, and Jon can see him wince. Slowly, Euron pushes him down, closer and closer to Jon’s throbbing backside.

“Go on, you useless shit. Lick him clean. You’ve had your filthy tongue in there before, didn’t you? Now suck the blood out of his hole before I kill you both!”

Jon closes his eyes as he’s overpowered by a wave of emotion. Is it possible that the prince wants him still? Jon wants him to, needs to know if there’s still a world in which touches there don’t hurt. The first wet pressure  _ does _ still hurt, the second not so much. Carefully, gently his prince’s mouth soothes him, cleans him, makes his body hum and his mind relax. 

It’s the venom, Jon’s aware of that. It numbs the open flesh, a gift from nature to the blood drinkers’ prey. The hum grows into a tingle, like a current running over his skin, it makes Jon careless. He sighs, his head falling onto his arms as his prince sucks at him so softly, so good, so good… With a sob he submits to the marvellous feeling of being treated like this, as if he mattered. He wishes he would mean enough to Euron.

Blasphemy, Jon tells himself as the feelings get better and better, to think of Euron like that. He’s just a man of a different temper, much harder than the prince, having seen so much more of the world. Maybe something’s happened to him on his journeys that turned him into iron. 

The pain is nearly gone now, and Jon vows to be better once again, to give Euron all the love he needs to remember that Jon is his, he should crawl away from the prince now to show him, but it feels so good, as if the prince didn’t care for himself at all, only for Jon - it hits him like a wave as he understands.

It had never been just the prince’s pleasure that mattered. It was Jon’s pleasure, what  _ he _ felt, what made  _ him _ feel good, what the prince wanted to do to him. Jon’s eyes fill with tears as the familiar long fingers wrap around his member and he spends, his prince’s name on his lips for the first time. 

“Theon…”

The blow comes out of nowhere, he feels his ribs break under the force of it, he hears a horrified scream, Theon is screaming and a red veil of pain and rage washes over Jon. The prince hasn’t done anything wrong, he’s only meant to be kind, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt!

With a growl Jon wrenches himself around and at the man that is twisting Theon’s arm behind his back, he can see the man’s laugh fall from his face in shock as Jon’s teeth tear into his skin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just needs to get them off of Theon-

“Now there’s a bloodline breaking through if I ever saw one.” Euron’s voice has Jon go stiff. What has he done?? “I didn’t think you have that in you, too tame, my boy…” 

Although the words are spoken calmly, Jon can nearly taste the sheer rage beneath them. Panic overtakes his every thought, he’ll be punished, he deserves to be, Euron will hate him now, will never love him again…

Breath gushing out of him, Jon slumps back, away from the man he’s mauled, away from Theon who’s staring at him as if he’s gone mad, away from the priest who now whispers something to the man still holding Theon’s shoulder as he’s kneeling on the stones, his hands dropping from his prisoner, away from them all, towards the only one who counts, towards Euron. 

“I’m sorry, my king,” is all he manages before fainting at his feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Jon, I really am. It'll get better *checks chapter planning* ...eventually.


	10. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is it always that Theon POV seems to be as easy as breathing? I don't even think I'm doing him justice but he's just so wonderful to write.

The cave is damp and cold and mossy and not very comfortable all around. Still better than being Euron’s prisoner, Theon supposes, or already in a watery grave, devoid of his cock. He still shivers every time he thinks of it, of Euron’s promise.

_I am going to cut it off, slice after slice, you hear me? Bit after bit, until every thought of my boy brings you nothing but pain, and memories of more pain._

Theon still feels the nauseating fear he felt when his men - now Euron’s men had captured him the moment he sat foot on Pyke once more after leaving the _Black Wind._ When they’d dragged him before the empty Seastone Chair Theon had been sure his final hour had come.

Euron had surprised him. He’s unpredictable, has been as long as Theon remembers him. One day the kind uncle, giving him sweets and toys he’s brought from his raids, a raving madman the next, dealing out slaps and kicks as if his nephews were naughty dogs.

_Welcome back, my dear nephew. You can stop shivering like a frightened lamb, I won’t kill you just now. For the time being… you are to remain my guest._

Guest. Hostage. It’s all the same in Euron’s twisted world. They’d bound him, and Dagmer had been assigned to be his personal watchdog, taking great glee in having the upper hand over his prince. Theon remembers a different Dagmer, obedient and adjuvant. The tides have truly changed.

And Jon… The last image Theon has seen of him makes his eyes fill with tears of anger, of guilt, of shame.

Jon had been splayed out at Euron’s feet, unconscious, and Theon isn’t sure if he’s ever felt that surprised in all his life. He’s come to Theon’s aid. Jon had attacked the guard that was constraining Theon, has acted before thinking of Euron.

He’s trying not to read anything into it, maybe Jon’s just had a lucid moment, has seen the monster Euron is… but he hadn’t attacked Euron. Only the man that was hurting Theon. He cannot quell it, the ridiculous flutter of hope inside his chest, of there being a tiny chance that Jon might feel something for Theon too.

Theon shivers and clutches the bear pelt Aeron has produced from God knows where tighter around his shoulders. This is his cave, Aeron’s, or at least he claims he’s the one who discovered it a long time ago.

Theon shakes his head doubtfully. He’s sure there must be others who know of it, it’s directly under the inner castle. Yes, it’s hard to get in, he had to hold his breath for nearly two minutes to swim there. But there is this small shaft, leading from the cave’s ceiling straight into the castle, somewhere in the corridors joining the bath house and the queen’s chambers.

It’s too high to reach, but Aeron used it to bring supplies to his hideout, food and drink and that bear pelt, tools to build a fire with, and... Theon lets his gaze sweep over the dozens of empty flasks and bottles littering the cave floor. Aeron must’ve passed out here countless times, drunk out of his mind. Not that Theon can’t understand.

 _Why are you doing this_ , he’d asked his uncle, _why are you helping me?_

 _Can’t stand Euron, never could,_ the cryptic answer had been. It had needed a whole lot of persuasion to get Aeron to talk about why exactly he couldn’t stand Euron. Theon shudders. To think Euron had been so depraved, so violent, even as a child… Aeron had dismissed his sympathy with a grimace. _Long ago, nephew. I found peace in the Drowned God. Your boy though… Euron will break him into a thousand pieces._

Theon knows he’s right. At the moment his twisted love for Euron is still protecting Jon, in a cruel way. He still thinks this is what Euron’s love looks like, that he’ll have to endure everything to have Euron love him. But once this fragile state shatters… It could destroy Jon, to realise that there never was any love but his own, futile one.

He could never have left him. Asha’s face when Theon declared he’d be going back had been nearly comical, her disbelief slightly offensive. Well, she doesn’t need him when she meets the Dragon Queen. Jon needs him. He needs Jon.

Seeing him like this, cowering next to the Seastone Chair, serving Euron’s every whim… Watching Euron mount him like an animal, hurt him so much, watching Jon just taking everything Euron did to him, so brave, so strong, so beautiful…

He shouldn’t have played his uncle’s game, Theon thinks. He should never have touched Jon, should never have… But he couldn’t _not_ touch him, couldn’t _not_ try to ease the pain, just a little, give him just one good feeling amidst hell.

And now Jon is paying for it. Theon knows from Aeron that his ribs are broken, and Aeron says Euron had nearly killed him in his rage this time. They’ve brought him to a cell, not far from Euron’s chambers. Aeron says Jon has regained consciousness a couple of times, that he has to give him a strong mix from milk of the poppy and whatever it was, Theon can’t remember, to keep him from thrashing and making his condition worse.

Theon wishes he’d have a possibility to mark time in here. Was it a day ago that Aeron has sent the raven with Theon’s letter to the Wolves on his behalf? A week, two? He hopes they will answer as soon as possible. Asha’s success in Meereen is uncertain. They need the Wolves.

Theon gets up, too restless to keep still. He has to try, he has to sneak out to see Jon. Maybe he can find a way to get him out, to bring him into the cave until the Wolves arrive. Keep him safe from Euron’s attention. He has to try.

***

“Are you out of your mind?” Aeron looks him up and down with a horrified expression. “Showing up here like a drowned rat and demanding I smuggle you past Euron just so you can see an unconscious boy who won’t even register your presence?”

Aeron’s words crush the feeble flutter of hope Theon hadn’t been able to stifle. If Jon is still not conscious, there’s no way Theon can bring him into the cave. Jon needs to at least be able to follow commands, take a deep breath, hold it, or else he’ll drown.

“I need to see him,” he says regardless. Just one glimpse. He’s going crazy.

Aeron glowers at him silently for a while before nodding briskly. “Very well. But if Euron gets his hands on you I might not be able to help you this time. I doubt you’d survive such an encounter long enough to be held by more… persuasible men than my brother.” A hard grin lets his face seem younger for a moment. “Idiot, the one who was restraining you. I just said, Theon is the Prince chosen by the Drowned God, and his wrath will follow you. That’s all it took.”

Theon grins weakly. He’s grateful for his uncle’s help, but now is not the time. Now he needs to see Jon. “Can we go, uncle?”

Aeron avoids his gaze, and Theon’s throat tightens.

“Euron’s with him now. I’ll take you in… in about three hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wondering whose POV you like the most. Chapter 12 will be another addition to the team. Can you guess who? :)
> 
> (POOR JON!!!!!)


	11. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon, poor Jon, poor Jon *sing*
> 
> It's so bloody hot here I just wanna lay down and be unsconscious till September -.-

Time passes. That’s the only thing Jon is sure of. How much he cannot say. He could be lying in this cell for hours, days, months. They bring him food, soup and mash, someone tends to him when he’s asleep. He’s always clean when he wakes up for a few short moments, long enough to eat and drink before he passes out again, not feeling cold or hot or any pain. Maybe they put something in his drink. 

It’s no peaceful sleep it brings him, whatever it is. His dreams are nightmares, of his prince at Euron’s hands, of Euron’s hands, of Euron. Sometimes he dreams of the massacre, not certain if it is memories or just visions that come to haunt him. Has he really seen the giant man? Drenched in his siblings’ blood? Has he really seen his father’s face as he died, violet eyes breaking as the life left his body? 

Euron is with him a lot of the time, Jon is sure. He doesn’t see him, he can’t open his eyes, the lids are too heavy, but he can smell him, he can feel his hands and his teeth and his cock, over and over and over. There’s no pain, only pressure and the familiar fullness. Euron never says a word, or maybe Jon just can’t hear him, he’s deaf and blind and senseless. 

Another dream, a woman he doesn’t know. She looks like him, like the reflection Jon has seen in his prince’s mirrors. Dark hair, matted with sweat, huge dark eyes full of pain and again, so much blood, drenching a somehow familiar dark brown pelt covering her lower half. Her lips, just like his, are moving, whispering something while tears stream down her face. He knows it’s his name but he can’t understand her, he’s pulled away and her arms reach out--

“Jon.”

His name. Not the one the woman who must be his mother gave him. The name Euron gave him, the only name he needs and wants.

“Jon… hear me?”

A familiar voice, he knows it well, knows how it sounds when it mocks him, knows how it sounds when laughing at him, knows how it sounds thick with contempt.

“Please… Jon… wake…”

Knows the kindness this voice can carry, knows how it sounds in pleasure and satisfaction, knows it when it whispers his name so tenderly.

“Jon…  _ please _ … no time!”

He knows this voice in fear and horror, he knows it when its owner cries out in pain - Jon squints. He cannot see clearly, but he makes out his prince’s face swimming before his eyes. Jon tries to sit up, isn’t even able to lift his head. Single words reach his hazy brain, words he can make no sense of. 

“Too long… no air… impossible… wait… help… raven to… Wolves are coming… Asha has sailed… Dragon… help…”

A hand on his face, caressing and gentle. A kiss to his dry lips, soft and soothing.

“Hold on,” and again, “Jon… hold on.”

Darkness and silence drag him under again. It makes no sense at all. Dragons are long gone from the world. The last one died hundreds of years ago. Jon’s heart aches at the thought, he doesn’t know why his eyes fill with tears. The dragons are long gone. 

He doesn’t know anything about wolves either. The only beast he knows is the mighty kraken, fearsome and unstoppable. Just like the kraken king. Whatever the prince is planning, it’s not going to happen. Euron is invincible. Not even the Lady could stop him, and she’s the fiercest Kraken of them all. She’s gone, sailed immediately after her father’s death, Euron had told him.

Time passes. Once or twice Jon thinks his prince is there with him, but then it could be a dream. Euron is there with him in his dreams too, drawing blood and using his body, but is it real? There’s no way to tell. Jon’s body is still numb, nothing and more nothing. 

He dreams he’s flying, grey skies, a woman with silver hair, just like his father’s. Jon thinks he should know her, but can’t find her name. The other woman again, lying dead in a pool of blood, her stomach cut open. Euron, both eyes blue and glittering in triumph as he takes a bundle from the woman, wrapping it in the bloody pelt. Euron again, lying on a ground made of sand, his throat slit open. Nothing makes sense. 

He’s flying. Someone’s holding his head to a warm chest, hair tickles Jon’s cheek. The smell is familiar. Damp wood and the sea, salt and iron and blood. The touch is gentle. He’s cradling him close, effortlessly carrying him, laying him down on something soft. Jon’s eyes won’t open, but he just knows it is a dark brown fur. 

_ The boy will never be yours. Wolves and Dragons, united in this one human. You paid too much for him, the Gods won’t let this go unpunished. _

Jon can see the man who’s said those words, a long time ago. A lifetime ago, before Euron had left him behind at the Krakens’ hands. The man shouldn’t be here. He’s dead, Jon had seen his bloated body when they fished him out of the sea. He’d drowned himself after committing a horrible crime. But still, Jon can see him now, Victarion the Kraken, looking down on him in disinterest.

_ Come ooooon! He’s a nice kitty, you don’t have to be so afraid. He only bit you because you pulled his tail. Wouldn’t you bite if someone did that? See? If you are nice, Balerion will like you too. _

The girl’s eyes are black and mischievous, her hair is even darker than his, and he loves her.  _ Rhae _ . Her name is Rhae. Jon smiles, his eyes still closed. A cool, damp cloth is dragged over his hot brow. His sister’s name is Rhae and he loves her. The image changes, Rhae is lying huddled under the bed, a finger pressed to her lips, fear in her eyes. She can’t hide. He finds her. The giant man.

Blood, blood, blood, a little boy screaming, a woman begging, Mama, he wants to go and help her, even though she’s not his real mother, she’s always been kind to him, but the giant man is doing something to her and now she’s not moving anymore and Jon cries out. 

The giant man gets up and comes closer, and Jon knows he’ll kill him now like he killed Rhae and the boy and Mama, but the man only steps over his cowering form and disappears. Father is lying not far from Jon, eyes staring at nothing. Jon crawls over and curls in against Father’s chest, cold and wet with more blood. 

It’s quiet now, very quiet except for his sobs, and he can hear the footsteps loud and clear. They come closer and closer and closer and Jon doesn’t want to look up, they’ve come to kill him too now, he’s sure. 

Strong hands grips his arms and he’s lifted away from Father, pressed against a warm body now, held in strong arms.

“Shshsh, my boy. It’s over. I’m here to help you. No one will ever touch you, you’re safe with me.”

Jon shudders and leans his head against the comforting warmth of his saviour’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. The blood disappears, the fear disappears and he’s safe. The man holding him laughs, a soft, gentle sound and Jon looks up to see the man’s face, but it’s a grimace, bared teeth behind grotesquely stretched blue lips, one eye charred and blackened in its socket, the other burning with madness, the laugh turns louder and louder and Jon just wants it to stop, but it never ever stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Wolves.


	12. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please welcome Robb Stark to our POV crew! 16 years old, only child (!sorry to the other not-existing Starklings!) of Ned and Catelyn, heir to Winterfell and a real cutie (I think)

“A raven, my lords.”

Robb looks up from the book he’s studying, wiping a handful of sweaty curls from his forehead. It’s warm, this long summer, even here in Winterfell. Father makes no move to take the scroll Maester Luwin is holding out, so Robb does it instead, giving his father a worried glance.

Ned hasn’t been the same since the war was lost, the rebellion failed. After losing his father and brother at the mad king’s hands, the younger Dragon had cost him the most precious thing of all, his sister. Rhaegar had kidnapped her, and despite all efforts of Stags and Wolves combined, no one had been able to find her. Robb is sure she must be dead, and he knows Father thinks the same. 

He does not remembers any other Ned, but Robb’s mother does, telling him of how the Lord of Wolves used to be. Somber, yes, but with a warm smile for his loved ones, big and strong and invincible. The man that had returned to them… Robb thinks of his mother, of her grief, her sorrow. What must she have thought when she’d expected the young warrior she’d been married to, and received an old man in his stead?

The maester bows and takes a place at the door, waiting. Robb studies the wax seal. The sigil is that of the Krakens, enemies of the Wolves, loyal to Tywin the Lion, Tywin the King. Curious, Robb opens the scroll and reads. 

_ Lord Stark,   _

_ Despite our clans being enemies for a long time, I beg you to read this letter. Your nephew Jon _

Robb pauses, looking at his father, then follows his father’s gaze watching something outside the window. He clears his throat and starts from the beginning, out loud this time. At the sound of his voice, Ned looks up.

_ Lord Stark, _

_ Despite our clans being enemies for a long time, I beg you to read this letter. Your nephew Jon, son of your sister Lyanna the Wolf and Rhaegar the Dragon, is being held captive by my uncle Euron.  _

_ Euron has killed my father Balon and crowned himself King of the Iron Islands. He’s imprisoned your nephew and is torturing him in horrible ways I do not wish to detail further. _

_ My strength alone is not enough to free him as the Islanders are with Euron. My sister has set sails to the Bay of Dragons where the last Dragon is queen. With her help and yours we can end my uncle’s reign and rescue Jon.  _

_ Please hurry, my lord, for I fear my uncle will kill your nephew if help doesn’t arrive soon. I’ll try to do whatever I can, which will not be much.  _

_ In hope of your fast response, _

_ Theon of the Krakens _

_ I’ve heard Jon looks like his mother. _

A long silence sets in after Robb has finished reading, and finally the tension grows too much for Robb. 

“Father, if this is true…”

Ned doesn’t answer, he seems frozen rigid in sudden shock. The maester seems stunned as well, mumbling something to himself. At Robb’s inquiring look he clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry, my lords. It’s just… a Dragon-Wolf-Hybrid… They are…” The maester sighs. “Trouble.”

“Lyanna’s son?” Ned asks, getting up. “My sister’s  _ son _ ?”

Robb hasn’t ever seen him look this alive.

***

“Absolutely not.” 

Robb watches his mother pace up and down in front of his father, skirts rustling angrily as if to emphasize her point. 

“I will  _ not  _ see my husband go on another wild goose chase only because some random Kraken is telling tall tales. Ned, I will not have it!”

Robb sighs. Father has been trying for nearly an hour now to convince Mother of the necessity of this call, to no avail. And really, Robb can see her point, Father isn’t in any shape to fight the Crow’s Eye, whose reputation has reached even them in their far off northern lands. But...

“I will go.” 

Mother pauses in her pacing, with a jolt she turns to face him. “Robb, you can’t-” She sighs, not finishing her sentence. She knows Robb can do anything, he’s sixteen years now and not a child anymore. Mother takes his hand. “Are you certain?”

“I am. I’ll take no one but Jory, we will slip in quietly and find out if the content of this letter tells the truth. If so, I will help this Theon person to rescue my cousin.”

Ned, who’d looked utterly defeated, straightens. 

“Ice. You’ll take Ice. And Grey Wind.” He pauses, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “Take the white wolf too. He’s quiet, but fierce.”

Ice. Well, Robb didn’t expect that. It’s not a combat sword, too big and heavy to be handled in fight. There’s only one way he could wield it like a regular sword, a way he does not want to use. Blood. He’d have to drink blood. 

It’s not as if he’d never had the chance to try it. Lord and Lady Stark would never have forced their beliefs on their only child, on the contrary, they’d encouraged him to at least try and see what he’s willing to give up. Yet Robb had never felt the slightest curiosity as to how it’d taste, what it’d do to him. So he never drank.

But to gain enough strength to fight with Ice, he’d have to consume a lot of blood. The thought is repellant, it makes him sick to his stomach. But carrying Ice, letting it sing through the air and cut down the enemy instead of lying around, nothing but a useless heirloom… Robb shivers. He’ll cross that bridge when he reaches it.

***

“Robb, a word?”

Robb turns away from the horse he’s just tying his belongings to, looking into Maester Luwin’s lined face. His eyes are dark with worry. The maester leads Robb to the side.

“I feel I should warn you, Robb. About the Dragon-Wolf-Hybrid.”

Trouble, Robb remembers the maester saying when they’d gotten the letter. Now he’s curious as to what trouble could possibly come from a mere human boy. Surely the Kraken is the bigger danger. 

“There was only one before, that I know of. The result of a Dragon princess and a Wolf bastard’s indescretion. I don’t know the hybrid’s name, it got lost over the centuries.”

The maester hesitates.

“Her beauty put the moon and the stars to shame, it is said. The stories may be exaggerated, but it says that one look at her could drive men into madness.”

Robb raises his eyebrows. He cannot imagine such a beauty to exist. The maester goes on. 

“Tournees were held in her name and men fought to the death for one smile from her lips. But the worst were the blood drinkers. They could barely be stopped from getting to her, she had to be guarded day and night.”

Suddenly Robb knows what’s to come, and shivers crawl down his spine. 

“They got her. Five or six at once. They tore her apart in their haste to get to her blood. It must’ve smelled irresistible to them to warrant such madness.” The maester looks up. “I cannot believe that the boy in question is even half as… tempting. But it was enough to capture Euron the Kraken, and make his nephew beg his enemies for help.”

Robb still doesn’t know what to say. There can’t be any temptation that could make him go that feral, not even when he’s inhabiting Grey Wind’s form, a state he always feels wilder in. The maester must read his thoughts, he shakes his head with a sigh.

“Just… just be careful.”

“Of course,” Robb grins. “It’s only a human boy. No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... what'll happen once Robb arrives at Pyke? He has good intentions, that much is clear :)


	13. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor... Jon... 
> 
> I'm appalled at myself, but well, it's Euron.   
> Sorry... poor Jon.

“Too much… take some time…”

“If he dies… kill you… Drowned God…”

Voices drifting in. Damphair and Euron. Jon doesn’t like Damphair, although he’s not been as cruel to him as the old king. Damphair, who’s always refused to even go near Jon, never giving him orders, only ever staring at him through hooded eyes, their expression impossible to read.

“The Dragon will come for him if she reaches her. I don’t think the Wolves will. But the last Dragon has been alone for too long, one word of someone kin to her still alive and she will cross the sea.”

Jon understands the words better now, whole sentences, but their meaning is still lost on him. Dragons are long gone. There’s something tickling the edge of his mind, a connection, a thin thread. Balerion the dragon. Balerion the cat. Rhae laughing with her lips red from the liquid in her cup. Rhae and the cat and the dragon. The thought floats away before Jon can grasp it.

“His ribs have healed nicely. About this…” 

Sensations are flooding his body again, cold, hunger, a splitting headache, a dull throbbing in his rear where he can now feel someone’s fingers prodding into him. It doesn’t hurt, what must be two fingers slide in and out so easily, his flesh offering no resistance.

“Stop it. I know I went too far.” Euron’s voice has a dangerous growl to it, it makes the intrusive fingers disappear. “He’ll be fine. A little loose for now maybe, but that’s a price I am willing to pay.”

A violent shiver jerks through Jon, the cold is drowning him now, he opens his mouth and licks his lips.

“My king…”

His voice is a barely audible whisper, and Jon wonders how long it’s been since he’s used it. His ribs have healed, Damphair had said, so it must’ve been at least a moon, maybe longer. His tiny whisper is followed by a violent reaction, he’s drawn up and crushed against the firm, familiar body, a heavy hand petting his hair.

“My boy, you’ve scared me. You’ll be alright, I promise. My lovely, pretty boy…”

Jon feels a smile spreading across his face, his eyes still closed as he snuggles closer to Euron’s chest, revelling in the tender words and touches. A heavy pelt is dragged over both of them and a door opens and closes, Damphair is gone and they are alone. Jon tries to blink. It’s dark, save for a few candles lighting up Euron’s face as he watches Jon with an expression that’s nearly anxious.

“Euron,” Jon mouths and slowly lifts a hand to touch his king’s cheek. 

With a harsh groan Euron’s mouth comes down on Jon’s, his tongue slipping between Jon’s dutifully parted lips. Jon can sense he’s trying to be careful and he loves him for it, he lets Euron lick into his mouth, suck at his tongue, only a hint of teeth marring the bliss of his king kissing him like this. 

He’s pulled against Euron harder and harder, his rib cage aching as the pressure grows. The kiss breaks as Euron tilts his head to suck at Jon’s neck, there is pain now, a bite, but Euron doesn’t suck greedily like he usually would, now he lets Jon’s blood trickle onto his waiting lips, lapping his tongue over the wound.

Euron tries, so hard, to be gentle with him, it makes Jon’s eyes fill with grateful tears. Euron must love him after all, must care for him like Jon always needed him to. This tenderness now is something Jon thought was wiped out after Euron had seen the scars on his thighs, but now it is back. Euron must still love him.

“I know I went too far, my boy, I know. It made me so angry, you sighing another name, you coming for him when you’ve never come for me. Are you still mine, my boy?”

Jon is cradled to Euron’s chest, sitting in his lap, and now he can feel Euron’s hardness underneath him, straining and throbbing, eager to fill him up again. Jon doesn’t mind when Euron shifts him slightly to free his fat, dripping cock, he welcomes it with a gasp as Euron pulls him onto it in one swift move. 

“I’m yours,” Jon stammers between pants, feeling his body opening for Euron. “Only yours.”

This will never feel good, too large, too fast, too rough to cause Jon pleasure, but it’s easier now than it used to be and he embraces the pain. Euron still tries to be careful but it’s not in his nature, he picks up speed much too soon for Jon to get used to it, the thrusts too hard, pain slowly building in his rear as Euron goes faster and faster until Jon’s whole body is agony and quiet sobs are raking through him with every push.

But Euron’s arms are around him and Euron’s mouth is on his, saying things Jon needs to hear so much. He belongs to him, his saviour, his only family, his king, his love. Before long Euron’s concern leaves him, he just cannot escape himself. Jon is pushed away and down, he scrambles up on all fours to let Euron finish his business. 

The pain gets worse in this position, and Euron doesn’t seem near the end at all, pushing and drilling and tearing as if he’s never going to stop again. Jon can feel something dripping down his legs but Euron is still thrusting. It must be blood, Jon thinks, unable to stop a cry from escaping his throat as he remembers the last time Euron had fucked him like this.

He remembers Theon’s mouth on him, no pain, just bliss and the feeling of being cared for. If Euron would do it, or touch him, anything, just once… Maybe then Jon could learn to enjoy his king’s brutal force, could learn to enjoy being ripped in half. Euron is still going, grunting in effort, Jon’s backside is one red hot burning fire and he lets go, screaming out, begging, pleading with Euron to stop. 

Euron doesn’t stop. 

After what could’ve been hours or days, drifting in and out of consciousness, Jon hears Euron groan behind him, the welcome feeling of his hot, thick seed coating his insides nearly a bliss. It means it’s over. Euron pulls out and it’s really over, for now. Jon blinks. Weakly he props himself up and turns around, letting his head sink against Euron’s thigh. After a moment, Euron’s fingers thread into his curls and Jon sighs.

“Do you love me, my boy?”

The tone in which this question is asked is sure, confident, and of course there’s only one answer. 

“I love you, my king.”

They sit like this for a while, Euron’s hand heavy on Jon’s head. Finally, with a contented sigh, Euron bends and lifts Jon back against his chest, back in his lap where Jon can feel him hard again. He closes his eyes. Maybe one of these times Euron will fuck him to death. And if that’s what should happen - at least he’d die in his love’s arms. 

“My beautiful boy…” Euron’s voice has a strange edge to it, and Jon lifts his head to look into his face. “I’m glad you woke up today so we can spend a little time together before I leave.”

Leave? Jon stiffens, his gut immediately clenching in fear. Euron can’t leave him, not again! The guards - they would take him before Euron’s sails have disappeared on the horizon now that he’s already used, he needs to go with Euron, stay with him, be safe. 

“Please, my king,” Jon blurts out, wrapping his arms around Euron’s neck. “Please don’t leave me!”

Euron chuckles softly and kisses him, hard enough to break the thin skin of his lip. After he’s done licking the blood from Jon’s mouth, he leans back, shifting Jon to the side and freeing his cock from his pants. 

“Don’t think I’m not going to miss you, my boy, but I cannot take my precious little cockwarmer when I’m going to get me a wife.”

Wife. The word is ringing in Jon’s ears. Feeling numb, he glides down from Euron’s lap. Euron watches him with an amused half-smile. 

“Jealous, my boy? You needn’t worry. After plowing that golden lion’s cunt I’ll still have plenty left for you.” He laughs, short and hard. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll take a fancy to you and we’ll enjoy you both? Would you like that, my boy?”

Jon drops to his knees. The emotions fighting in him are threatening to overwhelm him, the possibility of sharing the burden against the pain of seeing his king with another… He shakes his head, reaching out to wrap his hands around Euron’s cock, red with blood and swollen and wet.

“I only want you, my king,” he says before he bends his head and swallows him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor. Jon. Poor. Jon. Poor Jon.


	14. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little cruel for doing this. But well, it can't be all doom and gloom right? And it reverts right back to doom and gloom anyway, so.

It’s so warm, one of the seldom days where no clouds obscure the sun here on the islands. The sea is a brilliant blue instead of the usual grey. It’s a perfect day to take a little boat and sail around Pyke and Orkmont to get to one of the little bays at the shore of Old Wyk. 

He’ll pack the boat with blankets for shade and to lie on in the hot sand, a couple flasks of wine and bottles of water, and maybe he can charm one of the kitchen slaves into packing him a basket, with cooked chicken or a meat pie, eggs maybe, some fruit if Asha has thought to get any on her last raid.

But before that he wants something else. Theon turns to his side, expecting to find Jon still asleep. He starts a little when he finds him looking back, his brown eyes alert and with a soft expression in them, his full mouth smiling at Theon. 

“Good morning,” he says, voice still husky from sleep, and Theon leans forward to kiss his smiling mouth.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Theon murmurs against Jon’s lips, “Would you terribly mind if I..?”

Instead of answering Jon tilts his head to the side, offering his pale throat to Theon’s teeth. Grinning, Theon nibbles at the skin, until Jon smacks him over the head lazily. 

“Stop teasing,  _ my prince _ , or forget it.”

“Demanding creature,” Theon mumbles, rolls his eyes and bites, mayhaps a little deeper than necessary, and Jon gasps in pain and surprise, not shoving Theon away regardless. 

After a few long draws, Theon laves his tongue over the wound to seal it, then licks his lips. 

“A reminder why I put up with you, you’re just too delicious,” he says, pinching Jon’s flushed cheek to emphasize his point. 

“Am I now? Why, I would’ve guessed there are other reasons to keep me around,” Jon replies, one eyebrow arched dramatically. “Need I show you again?”

He tries to push Theon off of him and Theon lets himself be shoved backwards until he’s lying under Jon, his warm, human breath washing over Theon’s chest as he lowers his mouth onto Theon’s nipples, one, then the other until Theon can’t bite back a moan. 

When Jon’s mouth wanders lower Theon laughs and pulls him back up. “Later, alright? This’ll be even sweeter on the beach, I promise.”

Jon’s mouth slowly forms a pout, so full and pretty Theon is actually tempted to let Jon go ahead and finish what he started, but that’d take too long now. Instead he grabs Jon’s wrists and with a quick move turns him around so that Theon’s on top, knees bracketing Jon’s hips. 

“Let me serve you for now,” he says, relishing the beautiful colour turning Jon’s cheeks scarlet. 

 

He sits up with a start, breath going fast and loud, echoed back by the damp cave walls. He’s achingly hard, immediately appalled at himself for the fact. Jon is up there, maybe in pain, maybe he’s regained consciousness in the meantime, maybe Euron’s with him and hurting him again in this very moment…

Theon buries his head in his hands. The dream had been so beautiful, so comfortable… none of it has ever happened, none of it ever can. Jon has never touched him like that, Theon has never allowed it. Now he wishes he had. He represses a groan. 

Even if the Wolves come, or the Dragon, even if they manage to get Jon to safety… In no way would Theon touch him ever again. Jon will have terrors all his life from the things Euron inflicted on him. 

_ If  _ the Wolves come. So far there hasn’t been a reply, no word, no raven. Maybe Theon’s letter was lost, maybe they received it and simply don’t care. He did receive word from Asha a couple of days ago though. She’s made it safely to Meereen and was waiting to be received by the Queen when she was writing the letter. 

One of them _ has _ to come. He can’t do it alone, not with the power of a hundred slaves’ blood in his veins. He’s too weak, Euron too strong. Theon suspects that drinking of Jon so regularly has only enhanced that strength. Jon’s blood is the most potent he ever had, in taste as well as in its effect on him. Theon sighs. He’d need to drain the life of Jon to be able to rescue Jon. Very useful indeed.

A strange noise has Theon look up just in time to see a crumbled up parcel drop from the ceiling. When he goes over to examine it he finds water, bread, and a note in Aeron’s tiny handwriting. 

_ Euron will leave for King’s Landing on the morrow. The boy’s care and security is mine to ensure until his return. _

He can see Jon. He can take care of Jon, with Aeron’s help, and Euron away and not destroying Jon faster than they can patch him up - maybe now there’s a chance, to get him away. There’s hope in Theon’s heart once more.

He’ll take him away, as far as he can. Somewhere foreign, somewhere peaceful, somewhere Euron doesn’t find them. And maybe, in time, Jon’s heart will be able to love again. Maybe he’ll be able to love Theon. A love between equals. 

It will be hard, Theon thinks, being around Jon and smelling him without being able to touch, or taste. But he can do it. After all, Theon’s fought his desire for Jon for more than a year before… Only now he knows what it tastes like, how Jon’s skin feels, the little noises Jon makes in pleasure…

It would never work. Sooner or later Theon will break his oath to himself and take advantage of Jon again and then Jon would hate him and  _ that _ he wouldn’t survive. Better to bring him somewhere safe, make sure he’s cared of, and leave. 

There is one other possibility. Theon cannot help but think of it. He could make Jon one of them. His own kind. A blood drinker. But it is so dangerous… Out of a hundred tries, not even ten survive. The other, unlucky ones die a gruesome death when the venom, instead of transforming their body, destroys it with burning acid and raging pain.

And even those it works on, there’s still so much that can go wrong. Theon shudders as he thinks of the Freys. Wannabes, upstarts. Their chief had found a willing blood drinker to turn him, but it went wrong, horrifyingly so. The man turned into a disgusting creature, a blood drinking ghoul. And he bred, a hundred creatures like him, only even more nauseating. 

No, Theon knows he could never inflict any of those risks on Jon. Not him. Not alone. He’s too weak. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Theon? Poor Jon.


	15. Asha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, in Meereen. I always like writing Dany from someone else's pov but as always I have a lot of doubts if it's even marginally IC. Well.

She looks like a doll, all soft porcelain skin and rosy cheeks, huge eyes framed with thick lashes. Violet, Asha notes. Her silver hair is braided in an immensely complicated looking way, though it suits this small, child-like woman. And just like a doll’s, her face is blank, her expression vacuous. 

Asha isn’t fooled for a second. There’s a roaring firestorm raging behind Daenerys’ pretty, docile facade. After suffering through a litany of titles and names, trying not to roll her eyes too much, Asha bows. The Queen raises an eyebrow, the first movement Asha can spy in her dispassionate face. 

“You have come a long way to see me, Kraken daughter.”

Her voice is light and silvery, it reminds Asha of the bells at Pyke, ringing for good and bad, a victory - or a storm. Daenerys Stormborn. What a glorious victory she would be. But first things first. 

When Daenerys hears Asha speak Euron’s name she laughs again, slightly more strained than before. “I’ve met your uncle before. He came here with his ship full of mutes and demanded I marry him and bear him children. When I declined his… gracious offer, he offered me another…  _ thing _ .” Her cute nose wrinkles in disdain and Asha snorts. 

“Let me guess. His big, fat cock?”

“Indeed.” Daenerys’ lips curl in disgust. “Not that I’m opposed to taking a lover…” 

Her gaze wanders over to a very strange-looking man with blue hair whose chest seems to swell under his Queen’s look, while another man, wearing the sigil of the Bears, seems to deflate. Asha grins. 

“...but, forgive me, although he is a very handsome man, something about your uncle made my skin crawl.” Daenerys smiles. “You do have the same looks. A Kraken trait I gather?”

Asha’s mouth is faster than her brain. “And do I make your skin crawl?”

Her smile widening, Daenerys shakes her head, her every move followed by her companions. But while the Bear is glowering at Asha with all his might, the blue-haired one winks, showing off a golden tooth as he grins broadly. A clear invitation. Well…

“We shall have dinner tonight,” Daenerys says. “You’ll tell me what you desire of me, and I will think about it.”

Sounds good, Asha thinks.

***

Before they’ve reached the main course, Asha has already managed to place her hand on Queen Daenerys’ thigh. It’s not slapped away, the Queen merely looks at Asha with a soft, amused smile, eyes dark and promising firestorms, one way or another. Asha looks forward to them. 

She’s explained to the Dragon everything Theon had told her to say, about the boy and his relations to her. The Queen had listened quietly, a doubtful expression on her face. 

“Of course I remember Aegon. Both Aegons, and my niece Rhaenys. They were all killed that night. If we hadn’t been on Dragonstone instead of King’s Landing that night, Viserys and I would’ve shared their fate.”

She pauses a moment, the corners of her mouth drooping, unshed tears making her eyes shine.

“And now you come and tell me that little Aegon - what did you call him? Jon - is alive and in Euron’s possession. Forgive me, my lady… It sounds too strange.”

Asha hadn’t answered. Whatever she’d said, it wouldn’t have furthered her case. If the roles were reversed she wouldn’t have believed it either, would have thought it a clever trick to get the help against Euron. 

“Daario,” the Queen had addressed the blue-haired man, “go and see the Red Lady. I will have the truth of this.” A glance to the side. “Lady Asha and I shall move on to dessert.”

Daario bows and leaves with the look of a man deprived of a delicious meal, his shoulders sagging so much Asha nearly feels sorry for him. And maybe she  _ is  _ a little sorry, he’s good-looking in a strange, blue-haired way - but one look at the Dragon Queen is enough to quench all thoughts of any other colours than silver and violet. 

The blue, iridescent dress Daenerys has been wearing makes no sound as it sails to the ground to pool at the Dragon’s feet. 

Silver hair. 

“Convince me,” Daenerys says, “that not all Krakens are bad.”

***

Asha wakes up with a start, her hand surging to grab her dirk - it isn’t there. She’s naked and warm, the bed she’s lying in is soft and comfortable, and after a moment of disorientation Asha remembers where she is. And with whom. 

She turns to the side, expecting to see a flood of silver hair pooling over the cool silk pillows. Instead there’s an empty space where last night Daenerys had been, beautifully splayed out for Asha’s eyes and hands and mouth. 

“You are awake.”

Asha looks to the door Daenerys just enters through, a decidedly see-through robe loosely flooding down her body. Asha grins in delight. Nothing against waking up to a man with a nice morning hard-on, but this has its perks as well. 

“Have you been out already? My Queen?” she adds with a purr. Last night Daenerys had seemed to like being addressed thus, and now she smiles down at Asha but makes no move to join her in bed again.

“I expect Daario to be back soon. Until then… would you like to meet my children?”

***

“Children.” Asha swallows dryly. “ _ Children? _ ” 

“They are. And…” Daenerys’ face saddens. “They’re the only ones I’ll ever have.”

Her hand wanders to her stomach, the gesture full of regret. Barren, Asha suspects with a twinge of pity. She’s never wanted children herself, hasn’t even given it much thought. But Daenerys clearly has. Still, calling three dragons her children instead seems...

They’re massive, especially the one Daenerys calls Drogon, clearly her favourite if Asha has to judge from the way she coos at him. Normally Asha prides herself on not scaring easily, but when the whitish one - introduced to her as Viserion - hiccups up a small column of flames, she stumbles back, nearly falling on her butt if it wasn’t for two strong hands saving her from embarrassment. 

“They’re quite something, huh?” 

“Daario,” Daenerys gives Drogon a last gentle pat before joining him and Asha. “What do you have to tell me?”

“It’s true. The Crow’s eye has the boy. Your… nephew. The priestess saw him clearly in the flames. He’s alive. Yet.”

Daenerys is still for so long Asha thinks about saying something, when all of a sudden her face hardens. 

“Lady Asha. We will go with you to Pyke, my children and I.” Her sudden smile is as terrible as the fire in her eyes. “ And Euron the Kraken will burn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be really really REALLY grateful for your thoughts on Daenerys. And Asha. And the story. -.-


	16. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> I'm posting on my phone today bc I'm home from work (fever >.<)  
> I hope there aren't too many mistakes, editing on my phone is a bitch.

“Spit? What do you mean, spit?”

Theon regards the bowl Aeron has shoved onto him dubiously. It contains a creamy substance dotted with herbs.

“Venom.” Aeron shrugs. “Helps the healing. I used Euron’s until now, but he’s gone and it’d be rather beneficial for the boy not to have Euron in his… body… for a time. One way or another.”

Theon sighs. It’s been nearly a fortnight since Euron has set sails to King’s Landing, and Aeron still has refused to let him see Jon, insisting he needed time to heal. Theon feels half-crazed.

“When?” he presses, refraining from snagging his uncle’s ragged robe and rattling him until a clear answer falls out. “When will you let me see him?”

Aeron doesn’t say anything, just regards him grumpily for a long while. Finally Theon gives up trying to stare him down and, with a disdainful grimace, spits into the bowl before hastily giving it back. Whatever helps Jon.

“You think you can hold it together around him?” Theon’s wounded look has Aeron shrug. “Have to make sure. As destroyed as the boy is, his blood is still calling like a siren.”

“You can feel that?” Theon’s baffled. “I thought it was only me and Euron who are so affected by him.”

Aeron’s snort is decidedly un-priestly, his sneer the first real expression Theon has seen on him in a long time. He shrugs.

“I may be a priest, but I’m still a man. His pull is strong, alluring, but I’m no animal like Euron, I can get myself together very well.” He sighs. “The boy is lucky in a way that he came here of all places.”

Theon can’t believe his ears. “Lucky???”

“Yes, lucky. There weren’t that many of us around when he started to smell like this, only you and Asha and me and Balon. Didn’t you wonder why your father never had the boy brought before him after that first time?”

Theon knows it’s true. Aeron and his celibacy, Balon who’d never looked at the boy after telling him of his new status, Asha, not seeming to feel the raging desire Theon felt - and himself, taking advantage of a slave boy for his scent and his body and his sweet smile. But…

“I can control myself,” he whispers. “I could never hurt him again. I love him.”

“Very well,” comes Aeron’s flat response after a minute of silence. “Come after nightfall.”

***

“You’re up.”

Theon can’t believe his eyes. Whatever Aeron’s been doing to him, that and the break from Euron’s attentions has worked wonders. Jon is sitting on his bed, a smile slowly breaking out over his face when Theon enters.

“My prince! You’ve come to--” Jon scrambles to his feet, rushing over. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

He’s so near, his face so beautiful, his smell, unmasked by Euron’s now, so delicious… Theon bows down in the same moment Jon tilts his head and their lips meet. Before Theon can pull back, horrified with his utter lack of control, Jon’s arms are around him and he’s pulled down once more.

He tries hard, to keep the kiss chaste, a mere brush of lips, but Jon’s mouth opens immediately under Theon’s and he kisses him as if his life depends on it. It’s hot and wet and so, so delicious, and Theon moans involuntarily as his arms around Jon’s waist tighten. Jon moves back a fraction then, and tilts his head, baring his neck.

Theon stares, at the dozens and dozens of white lines, at the hundreds of bite marks littering Jon’s neck, his shoulder to the point where the skin is covered by a loose tunic, even up to his jaw. Euron would never know if there was another scar added to the ones he caused himself.

He holds his breath, he steps back, gently disentangling Jon’s arms from his neck. He keeps Jon’s hands in his, and urges him to sit down with him. Jon shuffles closer immediately, burrowing his face in Theon’s neck. “I’ve missed you, my prince,” he mumbles. “I was worried he’d hurt you.” Theon holds him.

***

They sit like this for awhile, and every other moment Jon comes up for a kiss, and Theon complies. They’re sweet kisses, soft and warm and better than anything Theon has ever known. He tells Jon of Aeron’s cave, of his dreams. He doesn’t mention the Wolves, not yet.

“Come with me,” Theon says, kissing Jon once more, so soft. “I’ll take you somewhere safe, far away from here.”

“I’d like that,” Jon whispers. “I hate this island.”

Theon cradles him closer. “We can do it, now that you’re better. I’ll bring you to the cave and we’ll figure out a way to leave. You’ll never have to see Euron ever again.”

Jon freezes in his arms, lifts his head. His eyes are wide. “Never… again?” He moves back so fast Theon has no time to react, he watches Jon jump to his feet. “Never again? I would never see him again?” He turns to look at Theon, and now his eyes are burning. “I could never leave Euron forever, I belong to him!”

“Jon!” Theon gets up too. “Jon, you can’t mean it, he hurts you so much, he uses you, Jon, if you don’t leave he’ll kill you eventually!”

Jon shrugs, his gaze defiant, arms wrapped tightly around himself. “That doesn’t matter. I love him. He saved me, I’m his. I love him, Theon.” His gaze softens. “And I know that deep down he loves me too. There are moments…” He smiles, and Theon feels sick.

“He’s a monster,” he whispers, “he doesn’t even know what love is. You’re nothing but a toy for him, a possession. He’s evil, Jon.”

He takes a step towards Jon, longing to touch him again. Jon’s reaction shocks him to his core. Both hands raised, Jon shoves him hard enough he feels a twinge of pain as soft human hands hit his shoulders. Jon cries out in pain, his hands probably bruised, but when Theon wants to take them he flinches back violently.

“Shut up!!!” he screams, “Shut up and fuck off!! Euron is - how dare you talk about my king like that?? You have no right - no right - he loves me, he HAS to love me, he--” Jon pants, face flushed with tears streaming down his cheeks. “He has to love me,” he whispers, and then, “Out. OUT!!”

With a last, reluctant look, Theon leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon, eh?  
> Poor Theon.


	17. Jon (Victarion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon. *heavy sigh*  
> I don't think I have anything more interesting to say right now...

The prince comes back the next night. Jon refuses to look at him, he keeps sitting on his bed, arms around himself to keep from falling apart. He knows he said awful things, unjust and untrue. The prince has every right. After all, he’s come back for Jon, to help him. 

How’s he supposed to know? Jon doesn’t want help, doesn’t want to be rescued. All he wants is his saviour’s love. How is the prince to understand? To him Euron may be a monster, but Jon knows him better, knows there is something different beneath the facade. Yes, Euron is brutal. But that’s just his way, isn’t it? He can’t help it. And he  _ can  _ be kind. 

Jon thinks back to the last night he spent here with Euron before he left for King’s Landing. He’d been in Jon almost constantly, one way or the other, if not his cock then his teeth and tongue and fingers. But he’d been kind, too, had whispered such sweet things Jon’s heart aches at the thought of them. 

_ My sweet Jon, my lovely boy, you make me so happy, you’re so warm, so delicious, no one can ever satisfy me again, nothing but your hole, your mouth, your lovely mouth, my boy, come, take me in your mouth and look at me. _

He shudders now, unable to not recall that other thing too. The prince hasn’t come closer, he’s hovering in the door. Jon braves a glance. He doesn’t look angry, only sad, and Jon’s heart aches for him. In a way he loves him, too. But he’s not Euron. 

A book in Theon’s hands catches Jon’s attention, brown leather, worn and salt-stained. Theon takes a step towards the table and puts the book down before stepping back again. Jon cannot help feeling curious. 

“It’s Victarion’s log. From the year Euron brought you here. Read it. Please.”

Before Jon can answer he’s gone, and as soon as the door closes, curiosity gets the better of Jon. Two seconds later he’s back on the bed, leafing through those first, uninteresting months before he catches sight of Euron’s name. 

_ Euron finally returned from his foolish quest. His throat is in a much better condition than the last time, much to my dismay. He’s got the boy with him, and I have to hand him that, it’s an exquisite child. The smell is mouthwatering even now, when he’s all but a babe. Euron will have a hard time to keep the vultures away. And me. _

Jon shivers. He’s glad Victarion is dead. 

_ Cannot believe Euron’s plan worked as intended, but we got the official papers today. Balon is to be king by all that’s right. Strange that Euron hasn’t protested, but all his focus lies with the boy. He’s spoiling him rotten. If it were any other man but Euron I’d say it’s guilt. But Euron does not have a conscience. _

Jon scowls. Whatever did Euron have to be guilty for? Not being able to save Jon’s family too?

_ I wonder if he even thinks of it anymore. Do the She-Wolf’s screams haunt his dreams? Does he relive cutting her open and taking the babe from her? What will he say when the boy asks about his mother? Will he tell him he’s left her to die, sliced open like an animal? I doubt all of that very much. _

Jon reads it again, and again, and again, unable to make sense of the words. Euron has killed his mother? This cannot be true. It just cannot be true. 

_ Ridiculous, how he’s fussing over the boy. Good luck if the boy’s memory should ever return. How Euron is going to get out of this unscathed is beyond me. Yes, I had your whole family killed just so I can stick my greedy cock in your hole once you’re old enough? Or even before, I wouldn’t put it beyond Euron not to wait for the appropriate time. I wouldn’t.  _

It can’t be true. It can’t be true. 

_ My mouth ran away with me today and Euron didn’t exactly take it kindly. I said something along the lines of, the boy looks nothing like his Dragon father, and even though I don’t think the boy did even register what I was saying, Euron exploded in my face immediately.  _

It’s not true, it’s not true, it's not true. 

_ I will kill him for this. Once I am done dealing with the fucking slut I will kill him. _

The rest of the words are smudged and then it ends. And Victarion the Kraken was dead. Did Euron do that too? Murder his own brother? 

Jon’s head feels like it’s short of breaking into a thousand pieces, he clutches at it to stop it from falling apart. His chest feels hollow, his whole body is shaking. 

“It’s true,” says a voice from the door. “It was all a plot to get you. The murder of your mother, your father and his family. Your family.”

“Stop,” Jon whispers.

“I’m sorry. I should--”

“STOP!!!!”

Jon’s mind breaks into a thousand pieces, along with his heart.

***

Darkness, and dreams, the same as before. Jon looks at them strangely detached, now that he knows the truth. 

Theon is with him, he registers that much, but Jon cannot bring himself to open his eyes. He never wants to again. Euron is a monster. Euron is a monster. Jon loves - loved - a monster. Voices are drifting in and out. 

“Wasn’t your best… Euron’s bound to return in a fortnight… what will he do…”

Damphair, and Theon. 

“Won’t leave him again.”

A tear steals out of Jon’s eyes. His prince, still there for him, after all, after Jon’s incredible foolishness. Another tear follows, and a cool kiss is pressed to Jon’s forehead. The dam breaks with violence. 

It takes a long time, days, until Jon’s desperate sobs turn into inconsolable weeping, and even longer for him to gain a grip on himself. Theon’s tunic is soaked through at the chest and shoulder where Jon had been burying his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Theon says into the silence. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Jon’s eyes are red, he hiccups. “No use. Wouldn’t have believed it. I still cannot comprehend it, cannot understand…” He tilts his head back to look at Theon. “How can there be monsters like that out there, so cruel, so vile?” 

He shudders, and his prince tightens his hold. Jon goes on, his words slightly muffled against Theon’s chest.

“I really thought there is one spot in his heart where he loves me, that what made him do these things to me was his love for me. I thought, that’s what people do when they’re in love, right? They fuck.”

_ I’ve been so dumb. _

“Not like that,” Theon answers quietly. “It’s more like, see, when you and I… nevermind.”

Jon blinks. “You and I? You have never fucked me.”

_ Did you want to? Do you? _

“Nor will I. As you said, it rather be someone you love.” 

Theon seems as if he’s hurting as he says these words, as if that’s something impossible. 

_ Do you love me? _

Theon doesn’t seem to see the change in Jon’s eyes until it is too late, until Jon knows the decision slowly forming in his head is plainly visible on his face when Theon finally looks at him again. He feels himself brimming with pure determination.

“Please, Theon.” Jon says earnestly, pulling his mouth into a frown. “I want you to fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh yes, one thing maybe, Euron POV coming up next week, including Cersei, which adds another layer to his madness that I hadn't anticipated. Do you think showCersei shagged showEuron? I mean I can't blame her he's got two good hands XD


	18. Euron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here he is, back in his old glory ^^'  
> Disturbingly as he is, I do like writing Euron POV. *sorry* And disturbing Cersei.

_ She’s a bitch _ , is Euron’s first thought when Tywin introduces him to his daughter. And what a bitch! Endless waves of gold flowing down over her breasts, concealed by the scarlet velvet of her dress, pooling at the armrests of her chair. A part of her hair is woven around her head, like a crown. She wears it like a queen. 

Her face, though not as young and fresh as Euron usually prefers, has an edge of bitterness to it, but it’s still beautiful. Beautiful, and ice cold. She hasn’t spoken a word so far, just regards him as if she’s contemplating how his head would look on a spike. 

Euron grins.

“The rumours about your beauty weren’t false, I see. You’re clearly past your prime, my lady, but I shall condone this fact.”

The temperature in the room sinks considerably as Cersei gives him an icy stare from her emerald eyes. Tywin is looking uncomfortable, clearly not sure what she’ll do. She leans forward slightly.

“This is a compliment I can return,  _ my lord. _ ” It’s more a hiss than a word, her smile more a display of bared teeth. “At least I expected a man in possession of both of his eyes…” Her gaze drops to his mouth and her own lips curl in disdain, “...and his sanity.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Euron can’t help but break into startled laughter. “My lady,” he grins, “we will get along famously.”

They take a walk through the gardens later, unchaperoned after Cersei had talked to her father, a conversation Euron only heard a lot of hissing and mumbling of. It seems the King is getting old, his daughter clearly knows how to play him. 

She hasn’t allowed Euron to take her arm, instead she’s walking ahead at a brisk pace, not speaking to him. Euron has to admire her, the heat of the day and her heavy dress don’t seem to bother her at all, not one bead of sweat is showing on her face. Must be her icicle heart, Euron muses, he wonders if her cunt will be cold too.

He’s to find out a lot sooner than he’s planned. This night, when most of the castle is asleep, he hears soft steps on the stones of the hallway outside his chamber. He hasn’t locked the door, and now it opens slowly to reveal his betrothed, her hair loosely cascading over a thin nightgown. 

Euron can see her teats, dark and round, through the ivory fabric, and he gets harder than he already was. He’d been thinking of his boy, of course, of how good it will be when he finally has him again, his delicious smell enveloping him as much as his body’s heat. 

“Is that for me?” Cersei asks, gesturing to his cock jutting out between his thighs. “Or did I interrupt something?”

Euron barks out a harsh laugh at that. Ridiculous notion, handling oneself, he’s always been of that opinion. From the day he’s first felt the rushes of lust and desire, he’s always found a willing, or not so willing hole to find release in, a slave girl’s cunt, a brother’s mouth… 

And here comes another opportunity to spill his seed in, her eyes the darkest green in the candle light as she opens the laces of her nightgown and lets it fall to the floor in a pool of watery silk. Euron takes his time to examine her body. 

She’s still taut like a young woman, her belly unmarked by childbirth, her legs long and firm, her breasts still where they’re supposed to be. She’s a little flat for his taste, in women Euron prefers the ones with large tits and a big bottom, attributes to accentuate a small waist, just like his Falia had been. 

But Cersei is far from ugly, it won’t be a hardship to lay her on her back and do his duty as her future husband. She seems to be of a similar opinion, her gaze taking in his body is appreciative and satisfied, especially when she takes in his cock, long and thick and ready for her. 

“Well, as it seems you like what you see, why don’t you come here and let me show you how it feels?” 

Cersei rolls her eyes, to Euron’s amusement, but she does step closer, no hesitation in her movements. This woman, Euron realises, is not a blushing virgin. Well, all the better. He’s not in the mood to coddle a sobbing girl as he breaches her maidenhood.

She surprises him. Instead of lying down next to him she crawls onto the bed and between his legs like a cat, and before Euron can react to this she’s already straddled his lap, her eyes hot in her cold face as she looks down on him. 

“Now we will see if you are worth the trouble,” she hisses, her only way of speaking it seems, she lifts her hips and glides down onto his cock with a swift move. 

Euron is stunned. This woman does not fear him at all, a true lioness, and her cunt is warm, not cold, warm and snug around his cock. Her eyes are green slits in her face, glittering with determination as she starts to rock her hips, taking him deeper with every thrust. Euron watches her, her slender form moving on him, taking what she wants. 

How he can relate to that!

He reaches out to grope her tits, nice, firm weights in his hands, with his thumbs he strokes over her nipples and makes her shudder, a wave of wetness making her glide on his cock slicker and slippier. Curious, Euron lets one hand glide down over her soft skin to the top of her sopping cunt, rubbing at the knot there and she screams, her body tensing as she releases.

She does not stop. He feels around his cock, being driven into her still, again and again, to her asshole, a tiny, wrinkled entrance, just like his boy’s had been that first time - Euron’s concentration shatters as the memory comes crashing down on him, of that first time inside his lovely boy. 

He’d been so angry. The thought of anyone, of his nephew, having been in Jon before him had consumed Euron’s whole being, had made him careless to what he was doing. It wasn’t how he’d pictured driving into his boy for the first time, slowly, taking his time, savouring every inch. 

Instead he’d slammed into him with one mad thrust, to the hilt, all at once, his whole thick, throbbing cock. He recalls the dry tissue tearing under the force, recalls his boy’s scream of shock and horror, recalls how he immediately knew that he was indeed the first. Theon had never taken Jon thus.

But by then it had been too late, the feeling of the hot insides convulsing around him too good, his boy’s horrified screams too beautiful a sound to stop. Euron shivers, his cock hardening even more in Cersei’s slick cunt, making her moan as she quickens her pace. 

It’s so wet between her legs that Euron’s fingers, coated in her juices, have no problem breaching her asshole, her breath hitches and her body falls forward, both hands clawing into Euron’s chest. Her nails are long and sharp and he can feel where they are breaking his skin.

Euron slides a third finger in her ass and Cersei growls, her head coming down, and she’s licking at the wounds her nails have caused, lapping up the blood greedily. Euron starts at that, she’s no blood drinker, the female Lions aren’t, but she’s clearly enjoying it, coming again, her holes clenching around his cock and his fingers tightly.

Her lips are smeared with red when she lifts her head to look at him, pulled back over her bared teeth, and suddenly Euron thinks, he’ll never let his cock anywhere near that mouth. It’s not necessary anyway. He’s got his boy for that. 

That first time had been even more special. He hadn’t done it that night when he took Jon’s body for the first time, no, with that he’d waited. And it had been sweet, so sweet, his boy’s mouth even better than Euron had ever been able to imagine. It had taken some practice, some slaps and cuffs, but now his boy is the most perfect cocksucker in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.

He’s got a natural talent for it, his Jon, his lips and tongue are skilled as no one else’s, his throat had taken a less amount of pounding than Euron would’ve thought before being able to take him to the hilt. But it’s his eyes that make this nearly more enjoyable than having his ass.

After all those months of brutalizing the boy, of littering him with bites and bruises, of taking him in any way possible, there’s still an expression of innocence in them. There’s still love for Euron, obedient, unquestioning, meek and tame. The boy is his, no matter what his nephew did. 

Theon’s disappearance doesn’t worry Euron much. He’s probably finally understood that his game is lost, that there never was a chance. Not while Euron exists. With his nephew gone and Aeron keeping a good eye on Jon, Euron doesn’t have to be back too soon. 

And yet he knows he will, as fast as politeness allows he’ll hurry to his boy. He misses him so much it’s like a constant headache, craves his blood and his body and the look in his eyes. Picturing that look Euron grips at the hips still riding him hard, with a bellowed curse he spills in her. She slaps his face, hard. 

“Whoever you were with now in your thoughts is to be pitied.” 

Cersei’s voice is cold as she climbs off his softening cock, his seed spilling out of her and onto his thigh. She slips into her gown, turning to him once more as she reaches the door. 

“You’ll do well enough. Give me this whenever I want it, give me a crown, give me a son - and I’ll be loyal to you.” She smiles, the first smile Euron sees on her face. “Betray me and I’ll poison you in your own home.”

Euron watches her leave. What a surprise. He’s come to get a wife, and found an equal. Not that he trusts her declaration of loyalty, no. She’s the kind of woman to never be satisfied. He’ll give her what she wants, and more. The Iron Throne is his, and she’ll be his queen. But giving up Jon? Not in a million years.

As Euron cleans himself of his own release and Cersei’s wetness, a clear indicator of how much she’s enjoyed herself, a different notion seeps into his head. Maybe he should try, at least every now and then. Give his Jon the chance to enjoy what they’re doing, give him pleasure in between. 

Because as much as Euron loves his boy’s screams - he wants to hear him moan now, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO bad at writing m/f (I really wonder why) I hope I didn't make too much of a rat's arse of it.


	19. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't judge poor Theon - he's not superhuman, just your average vamp in luv. XD  
> (We all knew he was going to do it, who is he even kidding?)

“You cannot mean it.” Theon’s eyes are wide in disbelief - and anger. “After all he’s done to you… how can you even think of… of…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Jon’s all too aware what he means. And really, he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t want to be touched there ever again, by no one, not even his prince. He wants it all the same.

“I want to,” Jon starts, taking a shy step closer to Theon. “I  _ need _ to, need to know how…” It’s so hard to explain. Gathering his courage Jon looks up into Theon’s confused face. “How it’s meant to be. With someone who cares. With someone who…”

Loves me, he finishes in his head. He’d always thought Euron had loved him, in his own way. Now he knows. He never had. And Theon, Theon who’s risked so much for him? Is that love? Jon takes another step, slowly leaning in until he’s able to rest his head against Theon’s shoulder. His arms wrap around Jon automatically, and he sighs.

“I must be a fucking monster to agree to this.” His grip tightens, not too tight, just feeling safe. “If you’re sure..?”

Jon shivers in Theon’s embrace. Too long again, too long since he’s had any blood. Euron never feels cold, his touch always hot and heavy and oppressive. Jon is sure now he prefers the cold. Still…

“I am sure,” he mumbles into Theon’s shirt. “But drink first. It’ll make you feel better, and you’re warmer to me.” He tilts his head back to look at Theon. “Or you could do it while you use me.” At least Euron likes to do that.

Softly, Theon lifts one hand from Jon’s back to stroke his hair from his face, twisting a curl around his finger. Jon can see his face working as he’s contemplating what to do. He’s on the brink of saying no, and Jon acts. 

“Please,” he breathes, raising himself on his tiptoes to reach Theon’s mouth while tangling both hands in his shirt. 

Theon jolts back as Jon’s lips touch his but Jon doesn't let go, and suddenly Theon’s arms are around his waist and he’s lifted as Theon kisses him properly. 

“You’re a lunatic, I hope you’re aware of that,” Theon pants once he lets go of Jon’s mouth. “Fuck me, I can’t deny you anything.”

When he bends down, Jon smiles in triumph, gasping when Theon’s teeth break his skin. It’s not comparable to Euron in the slightest, not so hard, not so forceful. Again and again he can feel Theon’s tongue sweeping over the wound, sending shudders all over his body. 

It’s over too soon, Theon doesn’t take as much as Euron. When he smiles down at Jon his cheeks are faintly coloured, his gaze soft and dazed. Impatiently, Jon tugs on his shirt until Theon gets the hint and claims his mouth again, so much warmer now, the taste of Jon’s blood still on his lips. 

“To make this clear once and for all,” he mumbles against Jon’s mouth, “I’m not going to  _ use  _ you. I’m going to make love to you.”

A violent shudder runs through Jon at these words, he lets himself go slack in Theon’s arms as he lays him down on his bed, stretching out beside him. Reflexively, Jon means to slide down to take Theon like he would have to take Euron, but a gentle grip on his shoulder holds him back. 

“No. Lie down, love. Let me.”

Curious, Jon relaxes back. This resembles the times he had with his prince before Euron’s return, all those sweet moments in the prince’s chamber, all the pleasure he gave him. How innocent he’d been then!

Theon doesn’t seem to be in a rush at all, his fingers slowly glide through Jon’s hair, pressing down on his scalp in swirling movements until Jon can’t contain a contented hum. Theon kisses him again, his lips still warm when he mouths a wet path down Jon’s jaw, his neck, his chest. 

At Jon’s nipples he stops, kissing one, then the other before taking one in his mouth. Jon gasps as his nipple is sucked, licked, grazed with just a hint of sharp teeth, the other one being rolled between his prince’s long fingers. 

“Theon…”

At his whisper Theon looks up at him, Jon’s nipple still between his lips, and winks. He gives one last gentle bite before kissing down Jon’s stomach, lingering to dip his tongue into his navel before he reaches his half-hard cock. Jon’s whole body is yearning, yearning to be touched there, and at the first lick he arches off the bed with a cry. 

All of it feels wonderful, Theon’s mouth on him, gliding up and down his length, the feel of Theon’s locks under his fingers, his hands roaming over Jon’s body, seeming to be everywhere at once, warm and soft and gentle. Jon lifts his hips, wanting more of those wonderful feelings, wanting Theon’s hands  _ there _ . 

Theon hesitates. Jon notices his movements faltering, his agreement dissolving. One of his hands has paused just above Jon’s cock. It’s trembling and Jon takes it, bringing it to his mouth. Slowly he starts to lick Theon’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth. When he looks at Theon, his blue eyes are burning.

“Jon, I really shouldn’t. I can make you feel good without going so far, you know I can. It’s not  _ necessary  _ to… to…”

Jon doesn’t answer. He simply pulls his knees up to his chest, exposing himself to Theon. He’s not sure if that will help, or rather make things worse. He’s got no idea how it looks. Damphair seemed to be satisfied when coming to check on him, mumbling to himself and prodding and poking him with some salve smelling of herbs. 

Theon’s gaze drops down, his eyes widen, he swallows visibly. Jon starts to feel panic creeping up in his chest. What if it’s ugly? What if Euron has left scars, what if he’s too open? When he’s applied the salve himself, after Damphair’s instructions, he’s had no problem fitting a finger in without pain, what if Theon won’t feel anything, what if-

“Jon.” Theon’s smile is wide in what must be relief, his eyes glittering. “Jon, you’re…” He exhales, a shuddery breath. “Seems like Aeron does know what he’s doing after all.”

And he bends down and does  _ that _ with his mouth, what Jon loves so much, what feels better than anything in the world. Jon closes his eyes as bliss washes over him again and again, as Theon’s tongue does things to him,  _ in  _ him, that he wouldn’t ever be able to describe. 

“You taste like comfrey,” he hears Theon say, his voice sounding like he’s smiling before he gets back to his task. Jon moans as the tongue is back.

“Salve. Damphair gave me… oooh…”

Suddenly Theon’s mouth on him is gone and Jon looks up, disgruntled. Why’s he stopping now?? Theon looks around, still lying between Jon’s legs, he seems to be searching for something. His eyes light up and he stretches, taking something Jon can’t see from the floor. After a moment the familiar smell reaches Jon’s nose and he frowns in confusion. 

“That’s the salve. What are you doing?”

“This,” Theon smirks as he coats his fingers, “has just resolved all my apprehensions. I completely forgot about it until you mentioned Aeron.” He laughs. “If you want me, I’m yours.”

Jon’s got no idea whatever Theon is talking about, but the gist is clear, Theon’s going to give him what he wants. So he just nods eagerly and smiles, and is rewarded by a wide smile in return before Theon vanishes again. Jon’s head falls back when the tongue is there again, wonderful and gentle, while one of Theon’s hands loosely circles his cock. 

The explosion comes suddenly, so unexpected Jon starts up with a cry when pleasure shoots through him so hard he forgets how to breathe for a moment. It happens again, less severe but still overwhelming, and gradually Jon becomes aware of something inside him, something rubbing his insides. 

Theon is looking at him nervously. “Does that… is it good? Is it bearable?”

Jon wastes no time answering, he surges forward to grab Theon’s collar and drags him up and against his mouth, kissing him open-mouthed and breathless. If this is what it’s supposed to feel… He wonders if Euron even knows of this, of this spot that makes him feel so good. Or if he knows, and simply doesn’t care. 

“More,” he hears himself say, needy and demanding.

“Jon, that was just a finger.” Theon is looking at him, an uncertain smile on his face. “Are you really positive you’re ready for this? I mean, a finger is not a cock and - mmph!”

Jon has pressed both hands over Theon’s mouth. He has no words to explain what he feels, pleasure, curiosity, need, fear, all swirling in him, making him desperate for whatever waits for him, however this’ll turn out. He needs it. He needs to do it, needs to get this part of himself back. 

“Please, Theon,” he whispers. 

For a long time Theon just stares at him before sighing and moving back. “Alright. You tell me when it hurts. Promise me, love.”

“I promise.” 

Jon would promise anything to get what he wants right now. He doesn’t see what Theon is doing, but he’s back soon enough, kneeling between Jon’s legs. He doesn’t do anything, until Jon sighs, a little impatient. Theon smiles, and leans forward to kiss him softly. His hand is doing something between their bodies, and just as Jon opens his mouth to be kissed properly he feels something hard and big at his entrance. 

Automatically he lets his whole body go slack, something he’s learned fast enough. It usually makes the ordeal a tiny bit more bearable, at least the beginning, before the thrusting gets too hard to be bearable at all. Theon’s tongue slips into his mouth in the same moment as his cock pushes into Jon and -

Jon’s eyes go wide in surprise at the absence of pain. There’s a stretch, an intrusion, he can feel his body opening and giving way to it so easily… but there is no pain, no tearing, no burn, just a smooth, slow glide. 

Theon doesn’t stop, he moves forward until Jon can feel their bodies connecting tightly, having no idea where he ends and Theon begins anymore. One of Theon’s arms moves behind Jon’s back and he cradles him close, moving his head back to look at him. His eyes are brighter than the sea on a cloudless day, his lips trembling, his breath coming in little huffs. 

“Jon… Jon.” Like a prayer he repeats Jon’s name, seeming unable to say what he wants. 

Jon reaches up to touch his face, letting his fingers sweep over the prominent cheekbones, the smooth forehead, the shadows under his eyes, his lips, until Theon groans. His head falls forward and he buries his face in the crook of Jon’s neck. He rocks his hips, shallowly, and Jon gasps as pleasure rips through him, unexpected again, he can feel a little spurt of liquid from his cock and moans. 

At the sound Theon looks up, eyes even lighter now, and does it again. Jon clings to his shoulders, his body easily absorbing these gentle thrusts, closing his eyes as the pace quickens but not the force, as wave after wave rolls over him until he’s sure he’s drowning. 

“Jon…”

He opens his eyes to look at Theon, and gasps. The expression on his prince’s face… It’s not something Jon has ever seen before, but somehow he knows what it is. He’s sure he had the same look on his face the day Euron came home. Overwhelming, undemanding, all enveloping love. Time stands still, his heart is motionless in his chest, before his mind explodes and the world goes white. 

“Jon?”

Theon’s voice drags him up again, fear and something else in it Jon can’t think about now. Not now, not ever. They have no chance.

“Please tell me you are alright.”

Jon tries to feel his body, tries to see if there’s pain somewhere. But all he feels is a slowly diminishing glow, a heaviness to his limbs, warmth, his stomach sticky with his seed and - he feels good. He feels happy. It’s surprisingly hard to move his lips.

“Wish I was  _ your _ slave,” he mumbles, not even trying to open his eyes. “Wish I belonged to you.”

Sleep is already claiming him when he feels gentle kisses all over his face, fingers tangling with his own, a blanket dragged over him and Theon, lying by his side. He’s not sure if the answer is real, or already a dream. 

“I believe it’s the other way round.”

His dreams are peaceful, for the first night in a very long time and Jon smiles, even in sleep relishing Theon’s closeness. He’s drifting in and out, vague thoughts flitting through dream and awakeness. 

_ Tomorrow I’ll go away with him.  _

The dream suddenly changes, the warmth is gone, Theon is gone, there’s a scream and a crashing sound, and the smell of wood, a churning sea, a storm - and the iron tang of fresh blood. Something heavy on his face, something hot and hard, he cannot breathe, a hiss in his ear before the dream goes black.

“That, my boy, was your last mistake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Well. I'm sorry? 
> 
> And. Er. Next chapter will be next Thursday or Friday bc I have an assignment to complete and am really going NUTS with it (why can't I write decent Throbb? Why? What is this evil curse?)


	20. Euron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. Poor guys.

Euron leans back in the Seastone Chair. It’s not a very comfortable piece of furniture, and the old, worn pelt doesn’t do much to remedy this sad fact. He smiles at the thought. It’s not to be expected that the Iron Throne will be any more comfortable. 

His heartbeat is slowly calming again. He hasn’t been able to find Aeron yet, even after taking all three castles and the whole island apart in his search for his brother - or his brother’s body. Maybe Theon has chucked him into the sea, murdering his own uncle to get to Jon - Euron chuckles to himself. He’d murder the whole world, every living soul in it, to get to Jon. 

It’s an unamused laugh, tainted with an odd surge of regret. Euron’s not used to regretting anything, and still he does now. He regrets leaving for King’s Landing. He regrets trusting Aeron to be strong enough to hold his own against their weak nephew. He regrets his thoughts about Jon, regrets the small softening towards him he experienced. 

What a sad fool he’s been! Racing back to be with his boy, killing two sorcerers because they hadn’t been able to conjure enough wind for his satisfaction, his only desire hearing Jon moan his name. He won’t get it. Jon knows everything now. His heart is not Euron’s anymore. But Euron  _ will  _ hear his name from Jon’s lips, will hear him scream until he’s got no voice left in him, no life left in him. 

Euron is thirsty. It had needed two slaves to satisfy his thirst after what he can only describe as a shock, the second he’s experienced in his life so far. The first had been getting his throat slit clean through by that Jon the Griffin.

He can still feel the knife cutting through his skin and flesh, severing his windpipe. He’d tried to hold on to the precious cargo in his arms, but the blood loss had been too great in the end. Five years that man had cost him, five years of his boy’s life. 

It had taken days, days and the blood of the Sword of the Morning, to get a part of his strength back, at least enough to hide like a wounded animal, to recover and plan anew. Euron smiles to himself as he thinks of the sweet revenge he treated himself to. 

While Gregor the Dog slaughtered the Dragons on Tywin’s orders, Euron had amused himself by taking the Griffin apart, piece after piece, limb after limb. He remembers being impressed with his bravery in the face of a torturous death, so much so he gave his boy the dead man’s name. 

He glances down to where his boy is kneeling, properly dressed for today’s special occasion with a nice, white tunic and a pair of fitted, soft deerskin breeches. While Euron normally loathes to have any part of Jon covered, for practical reasons as much as for aesthetics, he’ll need the clothes - the white, crisp linen - for his plans.

Jon is wearing a nice, thick chain around his neck which Euron is holding the other end of, abruptly ripping it back from time to time to show his boy that he’s not forgiven. His lovely Jon hasn’t looked at him once, hasn’t answered to anything since one of his men brought his senses back, after Euron had nearly killed him. 

He gets too angry too fast, lashes out without thinking of the consequences. He’s already made some effort to tame this side of his temper, but it’s not something that’s ever going to leave him. Still, Euron tells himself to be patient. First his nephew, then his boy.

“Bring him forward.”

On his command, Theon is dragged into the centre of the room by two guards. He seems half unconscious, his head lolling from side to side. Only at seeing Jon does some life come into his figure, he tries to stay upright now. Euron shakes his head in pity. The little moron can’t have expected to steal what is his and live to tell the tale. 

Upon Theon’s entrance Jon starts struggling against the leather tying his wrists together, and to the chair. Euron tugs at the chain around his neck lightly, a reminder, but his boy doesn’t stop straining, as if he’s really trying to break free. Slightly confused, Euron yanks the chain harder, making his boy grip onto the chain with both hands as he struggles for breath. 

“Tell you what, my boy,” Euron murmurs in a conversational tone, and his Jon stiffens. “Everytime you forget about being my good little boy, I’ll add another lash to my nephew’s sentence.”

Jon immediately stops any signs of struggle, he keeps his head turned away and his gaze locked on Theon. Euron sighs. He cannot comprehend for the live of him what Jon sees in that skinny, ordinary boy when he’s used to him, a real man, a god amongst mere mortals. 

Yes, his nephew does possess a certain kind of beauty. Once or twice Euron may have felt inclined to let him follow in Aeron’s footsteps, but then Jon had taken all his focus, all his energy. Not that he’d ever touched his boy then, no. He’s no Aeron, no Theon, too precious to be destroyed at too young an age. 

He drives his fingers into Jon’s hair to hold his head still, then nods at Dagmer. He’s asked Euron to be the one to carry out the sentence, and while Euron has no knowledge of why Dagmer hates Theon’s guts that much, he’s agreed. He could do it himself, true, but this he’d rather watch. Watch, and make sure Jon watches. 

And his boy watches, flinching at every crack of the whip, at every whimper escaping this weakling’s throat, at every new red line appearing on his back. He cries out when the skin breaks, revealing Theon’s bare flesh, torn muscles, blood and more blood. Dagmer is doing a reasonably good job, but Euron knows he could do better, he will once it’s his boy’s turn. 

It takes a surprisingly long time, until his nephew’s body goes limp, until he loses consciousness. Euron harshly rips Jon’s head back, and this time his eyes meet Euron’s, glowing black with hatred in his tear-streaked face. It’s strange, how it nearly hurts to see his boy like this. Euron can’t afford that. 

He slaps his boy’s beautiful face, hard enough to cause his swollen bottom lip to tear again. 

“Say your goodbyes, my boy,” he whispers, then nods at the guards holding Theon’s body upright. 

They make not much of a ceremony of it, they simply drag Theon’s limp body to the large opening that Balon liked to call his sea view window, and before Jon can follow Euron’s advice to say goodbye, they throw the little prince out like they would throw out the trash remaining of a feast. 

Jon is very still for a moment before he surges up so fast Euron has barely time to loosen his hold on the chain, the leather strings binding Jon’s hands ripping under the force of his outbreak. Euron nearly lets his boy reach the window before he gives a violent yank that has Jon flying backwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thump. His hands are clawing at his neck, blood is pooling under the splayed out curls, and Euron gets up to examine his doing.

Pretty, the agony in Jon’s eyes, the parted lips greedily gasping for air, the red against the black… Pretty, but not yet pretty enough. Almost tenderly Euron unties the chain from Jon’s neck, rubbing gently over the marks it has left on his boy’s pale skin while he waits for Jon to get his breath back.

“I will kill you for this,” is the first thing that comes from Jon’s mouth, a pressed, painful rumble. 

“You think?” Euron asks while he casually turns Jon around and grips his hair to hold his head down. He drags down his boy’s breeches slowly, they have all the time in the world. For a moment he pauses to admire the pattern of scars littering Jon’s perfectly rounded cheeks, his own bitemarks. A work to be proud of and yet nothing against what is to come.

He brings one of his knees down onto his boy’s back, pinning him to the stone floor while Euron takes his cock out. He’d love to fuck him into a stupor now, would love to make him scream so loud Theon’s weakish soul will hear it in the depths of the underworld, but it would do no good now. He needs his boy conscious and able to stand.

So Euron just slides his cock over his boy’s backside, gritting his teeth as to not lose his grip on himself and just shove it inside, as deep as it’ll go. Jon’s throat must be too sore to scream, but his growls and his desperate struggle are doing the trick well enough.

It also helps to imagine the way his whip will dance over his boy’s back, how the blood will bloom where the skin tears away, how he’ll mark his boy from shoulder to thighs, a beautiful painting in red and pain. One above the other he’ll place the lashes, one side, then the other, delicious moans and hoarse screams like the most beautiful symphony while he creates a work of art. 

In the end he’ll get his reward, he’ll lick each and every wound he’s caused while spreading his boy’s hole wide to feed him his cock, over and over and over until he’s too broken to ever speak against Euron again, until he understands whose property he is.

“Mine,” Euron pants as he sprays his seed over Jon’s lovely ass, “mine, mine, mine  _ mine _ !”

Jon doesn’t move. Euron rises to his feet with a sated sigh. Now they can begin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fervently hope I do get the next chapter ready for next week. My mind is a black void right now for some reason but I'm going away for a long weekend so maybe I'll find inspiration somewhere abroad XD


	21. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I'm unfortunately still lacking mojo/Inspiration/brain cells - please forgive me if this chapter doesn't meet your expectations!

_ Theon is gone. _

Jon always thought he knew pain. First his hands, raw from work and the unforgiving weather of the Island, from the way his knees smarted against hard, cold stones. Then Euron came back and all those things were resting in a soft featherbed compared to what he did to Jon, how much he hurt him. 

_ And Theon is gone. _

Euron’s boot breaking his bones, Euron’s hands crushing his windpipe, Euron’s cock tearing him apart, choking him. Like summer rains on a warm day, before Jon learned real pain. His heart breaking at the recognition what Euron was, sobbing in his prince’s arms, feeling like he would die of shame and anguish. He’d take it again, everything of it, if it meant he could forgo the pain he knows now. 

_ What’s there to fight for now?  _

The first lash had been a shock. Jon can still hear the nauseating sound of his own skin breaking, much more amplified than when the whip had danced across Theon’s back, much louder when it was happening to himself. The pain came after the sound, a burning across his back like a white-hot knife slicing him in two. 

_ It’s over. _

He’s still wearing the linen shirt, or what’s left of it. The sleeves are still whole. After Euron had been done with him it had been frayed to stripes, heavy, sticking to his body, drenched with so much blood. Euron loved it. 

_ “I wish you could appreciate it, my boy. You’re extraordinary. Red on white, the anguish in your eyes… You’ve never been more beautiful, my boy.” _

And Euron had kissed him, after that first lash, blood flowing down his back, had kissed him as tenderly as a lover would. As Theon had. He should’ve bitten him, Jon thinks, but then, what good would it have done him? It wouldn’t have made Euron stop, it wouldn’t have brought Theon back. So Jon hadn’t responded at all. 

_ “So this is the way you want to play…” _

Euron’s voice had been soft, he’d shown no reaction to Jon’s lack of reciprocating the kiss. His fingers had tightened on Jon’s chin, he’d laughed and, almost playfully, shoved Jon’s head back. 

_ “As you wish, my boy.” _

And then he had started. Lash after lash, burn after burn, from Jon’s shoulders down to the backside of his thighs, one after the other, again and again and again until there was nothing else but pain. Jon doesn’t remember, did he scream? Did he cry? Whimper? Beg? He hopes not. He doesn’t want to please Euron, not anymore. 

What had come afterwards had been worse. Hours of Euron burying himself in Jon while licking his back ecstatically, sealing the wounds with the venom on his tongue, filling Jon’s ears with the venom in his words. 

_ “Do you think of him, my boy? Do you think of Theon while I possess you? Does he compare to me, the little weakling, does he compare to the Mighty Kraken? Did his cock feel like mine, filling out every inch of you? Did he whisper sweet nothings in your ear, my boy? Did he make _ love _ to you? Did you believe him? There’s no love in the world, my sweet little Jon, only lust and power. Only me.” _

Jon had lain still, hadn’t moved, hadn’t responded to any of it. Euron was wrong. Theon had loved him. And maybe, in another life, Jon would have been able to love him too. Maybe if Euron would just disappear, if Theon were still here, Jon could love him, he would have, back then, when it all started with his prince, if his heart hadn’t been already full of Euron. 

_ So many lost chances, so much wasted time. All for nothing. _

Theon had been wrong too, Jon thinks. He’s not able to move yet, hasn’t been since Euron left him in this room hours ago, or days. His whole body is stiff and hot and numb. The pain has dulled now, to a burn in his limbs, in his head. Maybe he’s running a fever. Maybe now he’ll die, forestalling Euron. And Theon had been wrong. The Wolves didn’t come. 

Why should they? It’s a bitter thought, but fitting. Why should they risk anything to rescue some human boy, just because his mother had been one of them? Jon is nothing to them. Not the Wolves, not the Dragon. He’s just Jon. Stupid, foolish Jon. 

Jon shifts his head a little, burying his face in the pillow. It still smells like Theon. Another one of Euron’s jokes, laying him in Theon’s chamber, in Theon’s bed before having him. Letting him stay here, waiting for his death. And death will come, Euron has made himself clear in that regard. 

_ “It’ll be over soon, my boy, my lovely Jon. As loath as I am to be deprived of your company… I cannot have this, cannot have any living soul have such a grip on me, make me weak like I nearly became for you. It will not be. Nothing will keep me from reaching my goals, and you… You are a distraction.” _

Euron had laughed, had stroked Jon’s hair in that sickening, loving way Jon had revelled in so much, before he knew. Now the mere thought makes him want to rip his scalp off. He shivers, a full-body-shudder. It hurts. But it doesn’t matter. Not long. 

Jon inhales deeply. Euron may have intended to torture him by bringing him here, but Jon is glad for it. It feels as if he’s nearer to Theon this way, while he’s waiting to join him wherever he is now. Is he waiting for Jon? Will he still love him after all he’s endured because of Jon? 

He hadn’t thought of Theon, when Euron had him for what he said was the last time. Jon had clenched his teeth and let Euron possess him, focussing on the nothingness inside his mind. There isn’t even hate for Euron. It makes no sense. I’ll kill you, Jon had said to him. What a ridiculous thing to say. As if he had even the tiniest chance at succeeding. 

_ “It will be fast, my Jon. I’ll drain you as quick as I can.” _ Euron had sighed deeply.  _ “I won’t lie and say I am not going to miss you, my boy. Your perfect body, taking me so well, your beauty, your eyes, the smell and taste of your blood…” _ Another sigh.  _ “It has to come to an end.” _

And now Jon is waiting, for Euron to keep his promise. End it. Make it quick. Let him go. 

A hand clamps over his mouth out of nowhere, and for a moment Jon goes rigid before willing himself to relax again. If Euron has come to finish it here and now, he’ll welcome death gladly. 

“Don’t scream, boy, or he’ll end us all.”

Damphair’s voice. Damphair - isn’t he dead? Maybe Jon has already died. But the pain would go away in death, he’s sure. 

“They’re here. I’ll take you to them.”

“Here?” Jon asks, nearly inaudible, as Damphair lifts him easily. “Who?”

Damphair has heard him despite his whisper. His eyes are glittering, a hard smile on his lined face. “The Wolves, boy. The Wolves have come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up (if I can find my AWOL muse in the meantime) is the Young Wolf again!


	22. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do like Robb. Very much. He's so... robbish.

They’ve been sitting in this stupid cave for nearly a day now, and slowly Robb starts to feel grumpy about it. He knows he told his parents he’ll go quietly to check if the Kraken boy’s letter spoke the truth, but if he’s entirely honest with himself he would’ve liked a more dramatic entrance. Like, cutting down people left and right, swoop that mysterious cousin in his arms and carry him home in triumph. 

Instead their boat was greeted by that strange priest, who’d muttered a lot about their tardiness and that things are happening now that have to be waited out. Then he’d brought them here - the wolves are still at the boat, together with the girl, it’s absolutely impossible to get them into the cave - and told them to wait. 

Robb looks over at the man huddled in a thick bear pelt seated across him and Jory. He hasn’t said much, this Theon of the Krakens, and it’s no wonder, really. Robb has seen the state of his back when the priest had tended to his wounds. The force that must’ve been used… it appalls Robb to think of it. 

The thought that his cousin might be living through the same thing right now, that he can’t help, can’t stop it - Robb leaps to his feet, starting to pace the small space. The energy is brimming in him, he wants to fight, wants to wield the sword, now that he can. The taste is still lingering in his mouth,  _ her _ taste. The taste of human blood. There’s no regret when he searches his mind, no guilt. 

_ “I volunteer.” Robb looks up at the quiet voice. One of the ship’s captain’s slave girls has stepped forward, head bowed, face hidden under chestnut coloured locks. “If you please, m’lord, you can take my blood.” _

_ “Are you certain?” Robb reaches out and curls his fingers around her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. “We have no time to… to… you know.” He sighs, embarrassed. “Go through the whole spiel.” _

_ A hint of amusement creeps into her brown eyes, instead of an answer she tilts her head, baring her neck. The blood flowing under her skin is clearly visible to Robb’s eyes, stoking the embers of thirst he normally represses so well.  _

_ It still feels wrong, to do something like this, take life essence from a living, breathing creature. He’d been brought up thinking of it as shameful. And yet Robb has known the stories all his life, of how Father had broken his vow when fighting alongside the Stags, when searching for Lyanna.  _

_ He hesitates. “What’s your name?”  _

_ “Jeyne,” comes the hushed reply.  _

_ “Well, I thank you. Jeyne,” Robb says, stroking her cheek. She blushes beautifully, deliciously, and without further ado sinks his teeth into her neck. _

And oh, it had been glorious, brilliant, energy surging through his whole body, an almost sexual kind of feeling, as if he’d been close to climaxing. He could feel his prick swelling with the rush of blood nestling into his every nerve, could feel the strength in his body building so rapidly it nearly hurt. It had been hard to stop.

But stopped he had, in time for Jeyne’s heart to keep beating, had asked Jory to pay the Captain whatever price he’d ask for her. It went without saying, that once he’d took advantage of a girl like that, that he would buy her freedom. Let her go home if she chooses, or get her some work back home, paid work. There are no slaves in Winterfell.

Upon Jory’s return Robb hadn’t been able to wait any longer, his curiosity in the new strength he could feel nearly killing him. Jory had raised an eyebrow, pointing at Ice with his chin, and grinned. Robb had shuffled closer, careful, as if the greatsword was about to bite him. It hadn’t, nestling into his hand perfectly, easily. He’d lifted it as if it was made of air. Robb had laughed, letting Ice dangle loosely from his hand, then, with a flick of his wrist, spun it around in a perfect circle, the Valyrian Steel singing through the air. 

“Neat,” he’d said with a grin. 

Now he picks Ice up again from where he’d placed it against a wall, playing with it again, stabbing and hacking and hammering at an invisible enemy. “I know why my parents didn’t want me to do this,” Robb says to nobody in particular. “I would’ve smashed the whole of Winterfell to bits.”

Jory laughs while Theon only watches Robb with those huge, sad eyes. He doesn’t really look like one of them, a blood drinker, let alone one that actually drinks blood on a regular base. Robb wonders how long it’s been since he’s had any. He’s as pale as the summer snows around Winterfell. 

He’s worried sick for Robb’s cousin, that much is clear. Has only introduced himself to him and Jory before sinking deeper into his pelt, eyes staring into nothing, obviously far away. He hasn’t said a word since the priest has gone to do whatever it is, but his body is taut as a bowstring. His hands are shaking. Robb thinks he looks sick, and weak. He’ll be no help against the real Kraken. 

He’s still watching Theon when he sees his eyes widen, sees him jumping to his feet, the pelt pooling on the ground, forgotten. He’s swaying, and Robb reaches out to catch him, should he fall, but Theon doesn’t acknowledge his hand. He stares at the cave entrance as if hypnotised. 

And then Robb inhales and his senses catch fire. He feels himself freeze, his whole body on high alert, breathing through his open mouth to get more of it, more of whatever this is. It’s coming nearer, his sinews are tightening, his muscles preparing for… 

A snarl rips from his lips as the source of this scent comes into view, cradled against the priest’s chest. Pale skin flushed red, human, so human, delicious, want, need, fight, need, want, yes, mine,  _ need!!!!!!  _ He leaps, one more step and he’s there, can tear the delicious flesh open to get to that blood that is singing in his whole body. 

Dark eyes open, a fearful look in them, eyes like Father’s, the human opens his mouth and makes a small, terrified sound. Robb freezes mid-step and stares. The moment he stops moving, he feels familiar hands tighten on his shoulders, urging him to step back. He follows, eyes still fixed on the boy with his father’s face. 

“Don’t breathe too much,” the priest says with a dark scowl in Robb’s direction. “You’re not used to him. And you, you sit down, you cannot hold him right now, you stupid boy.”

Robb does look away from the human’s face then, holding his breath as much as he can. He watches Theon settle back down, watches the priest place the human - his cousin, it has to be him - at his side. He watches Theon’s arms winding around the human - Jon, his name is Jon - and sees him wincing at the touch.

He’s wrapped in a blanket, but now it falls away as the boy - Jon - buries his head in Theon’s neck, and Robb gasps before he can help himself. If he thought Theon’s back was a mess before, this now is beyond comparison. The wounds are sealed, all of them, dozens and hundreds of cuts and bruises. That the boy, that Jon is still alive is nothing short of a miracle. 

It’s better now, Robb thinks, inhaling carefully. Maester Luwin had been right about the attraction, but it’s duller now than when he first sensed it. As if the first hit has been the worse. Or maybe it’s the fact that the boy is his cousin, or that he looks like Father, or maybe it’s the look in Theon’s eyes as he cradles Jon close while the priest examines his back. 

And maybe it’s just the rage starting to burn in Robb’s chest. The monster that did this has to die. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Theon and how he survived through pure pigheadedness, his feelings regarding Jon (who I think isn't quite up to date with the situation yet) and that strange, smiley Wolf - and a decision he has to make. Ouch.


	23. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. On the short side, I know. It's just - I don't know why but I'm so blocked it's not even funny anymore.

The world has reduced itself to just one sensation. He doesn’t feel a thing outside of this, Jon’s weight against his side. He’s warm, too warm, maybe running a fever. His pretty face is flushed, his tangled hair matted with sweat. Theon doesn’t care, he still runs his hand through it over and over, his other hand softly holding Jon to his side. 

He’d never thought he’d get to see him again, to touch him again, to kiss his forehead like he does now, to smell his sweet human scent. Theon shudders, nosing along Jon’s jaw. This isn’t the time for that sort of thing, but he still presses his lips to the spot where he can feel Jon’s pulse fluttering, too fast. 

“Theon.” Jon’s voice is weak and soft, barely a murmur. “Theon, are we dead? Is it over? Can I stay here with you?”

Jon’s eyes are open now, glazed over and unfocussed. Definitely a fever. Theon wishes he could cradle him closer, but the state of Jon’s back doesn’t allow it. It must be agony for him to even sit like this. He struggles for an answer while stroking Jon’s hair, his cheeks, his dry lips. Jon needs water, but before Theon can move, another voice reaches him. 

“Here,” the Wolf says. He’s holding out a bottle, crouching at an arm’s length away. His eyes are trained on Jon, but the mad thirst is gone from them. Amazing, how this boy managed to control himself, Theon thinks. With a nod he takes the bottle and holds it to Jon’s lips. 

“Drink, Jon.” He holds his head as Jon follows his order greedily. How can Theon tell him? He has to. “We’re not dead, love.” Not yet. Telling him this hurts the most. “It’s not over. You’re safe right now, but Euron has to die or he’ll find you wherever we go.” 

Theon pauses, watching Jon’s eyes clear a little. He helps him drink again. Jon settles his head against Theon’s neck, his hot touch sending chills all over Theon’s cold skin. He’s whispering something, and Theon strains his ears to hear him. 

“He can’t be killed,” Theon hears. “No one can do it.”

“I beg to differ, cousin!”

Theon looks up, astonished. The young Wolf has good ears. Jon lifts his head to blink at the Wolf, confusion evident on his face. 

“Cousin?” he whispers.

“Robb, actually,” the Wolf says with a broad grin, but when looking at Theon his smile fades a little. “May I meet him?”

Theon can’t help but admire the Wolf for his tact. Still, he’s not Jon’s owner, nor his guardian. “Do you want to?” he asks Jon, stroking his cheek again. Jon nods, gaze shifting over to the Wolf. 

“As I said, my name is Robb,” the Wolf says, coming closer ever so slightly. “I believe your mother was my aunt Lyanna, which would make us cousins. I am sorry we meet under such circumstances, but…” He trails off, eyes fixed firmly on Jon’s face.

“You’ve come for me?” Jon asks, his voice a little firmer now, sounding incredulous. “You really came for  _ me? _ ”

“Why, yes! To help your Kraken there rescue you and slay the monster I believe,” the Wolf says, now grinning at Theon. “And looks like he needs all the help he can get.” 

Theon just starts to snap back but then shakes his head. The Wolf is right, he’s in no condition to fight, has never been, not Euron, not alone. “He speaks true,” he mutters, his words directed at Jon. “I’ve always been too weak to protect you. And now after all of this…” He sighs. “I couldn’t even carry you right now.”

“Actually…” The voice belongs to the human that has come with the Wolf, and Theon turns his head to look at him. “I think you’re underestimating yourself there, Kraken. To survive something like you did…” He shakes his head. “Quite extraordinary.”

Theon smiles faintly, when a hand touches the side of his neck. He looks down at Jon questioningly. “What is it, love?”

“How?” Jon asks.  

“Porpoises,” Theon answers simply, “turtles. A seal. Their blood replenished me enough to make my way into the cave. I was hoping Aeron was still there, and he was.” He looks at his uncle, sitting cross-legged against the wall, with a smile. “Never been so happy to see one of my kin before.” 

Jon smiles, his eyes sliding shut. “Am glad you’re alive, my prince. Am glad the Wolf is here.”

“Me too,” Theon whispers, too low for Jon to hear. 

When he’s sure Jon is asleep he carefully lowers him on his belly onto the bear pelt he’s spread across the cold stone ground. He doesn’t have time to look around for something to cover Jon with before a thick cloak is thrust at him, smelling heavily of Wolf. Theon raises an eyebrow but covers Jon with it. Now is not the time for petty rivalry. 

“You love him?” 

The Wolf’s voice is quiet, curious. Theon nods. 

“I do. At first it was just… Well, you experienced it yourself. He’s… irresistible. But then I got to know him a little, and he has a sweet heart, a clever head, a very strong sense of wrong and right where it concerns others but him - It’s impossible not to love him.”

“He’s beautiful.” The Wolf’s words contain the thirst again, the longing. A sense of wonder. “I want him.”

“Of course you do,” Theon says quietly. “And maybe he’d want you too if he got to know you. It isn’t my place to decide for him.” He looks up. “But swear to me by the Drowned God and whatever Gods you Wolves keep that you won’t ever force him, in any way there is.”

“That I can swear by my family’s blood,” Robb answers solemnly. 

Theon strokes Jon’s hair one last time before looking up into the faces around him. Aeron, the Wolf, his human companion. “We need to make a plan,” Theon says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are still with me I'd like to apologize for the wait. And the decline in quality. And everything really.   
> But know that I am NOT abandoning this, it's all planned out and will be finished (I fervently hope this year).


	24. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. I actually have no idea if I'm still making sense here. Am I?

Scraps of hushed conversation are the first thing Jon notices, followed by, as usual, a steadily rising amount of pain as his body twitches awake. 

“...Leave him here… Not save… Aeron can guard him…”

They plan on leaving him behind!! Jon wants to shout at them, but all he manages is a hoarse crowing sound that is followed by immediate silence, then a chuckle. Jon slowly lifts his head off the pelt, looking up at a pair of blue eyes and a smile brighter than the sun. 

“Welcome back, cousin! Thought you’d snooze the whole day away like this.” 

Jon blinks, the face swimming in and out of focus. He’s not used to someone talking to him like this, and he’s definitely not used to this level of cheerful merriment. The Wolf - his cousin - holds out a hand, and Jon looks at it, then tries to peers around Robb. Where’s Theon? Did he only dream he’s alive?

“Oh, alright, understood!” Robb grins again, then shouts over his shoulder. “Oi, Kraken! I think you’re wanted over here.” 

He doesn’t seem to be offended in the slightest that Jon’d rather have Theon help him up. He just needs to see him now, needs to confirm that he’s really there. Jon’s head drops back against the scratchy fur of the pelt. He’s feeling dizzy, faintly nauseous. When he tries to move his arms, pain shoots through them like flames. 

He can smell him before he touches him, Theon’s unique scent, diluted, washed-out, but still Theon. Jon exhales, tension leaving his body like a stream of water. He’s not dead. He’s not lost. Jon stifles a sob as Theon’s arms wrap around him, comforting and real, and Jon tries not to wince too much when they touch his back. Theon still pales, a remarkable feat considering his already bone-white face. He needs to drink, Jon notes absently. 

“I’m sorry, love. Do you think you can sit?”

Jon nods, of course sitting hurts, but then when hasn’t it in the last half year? He’ll be fine. As fine as is possible now. There’s a heaviness to his body that contrasts starkly with the lightness in his head - as if a part of him has gone off somewhere else, ahead of the rest of him. 

Jon licks his lips. They’re cracked and hurt. Carefully he concentrates on lifting his arm and finds that it is possible, he can ignore the stiffness and the ache for a few moments. His head swims, and Jon swallows dryly. 

His cousin - Robb - produces a bottle of something, Theon holds it to his lips and Jon drinks greedily. Watered-down wine, delicious, and without thinking he covers Theon’s hands with his and drains it to the last drop. Only when four pairs of eyes stare at him he realizes what he’s done. His hands sink back to his lap, too heavy again.

“Thirsty,” he says, explaining, and then the most important thing of all. “I’m not staying behind.”

This unleashes a storm of protest, from Robb (“Have you lost your mind, cousin?”) to Theon (“Jon, you can’t mean it, he’ll be all over you in a heartbeat”) to the man named Jory (“The Old Gods have mercy”) to Aeron (“Stupid boy, shut your mouth”). Jon keeps calm, feeling like he wants to laugh as he waits for them to be done. There they are, caring for him. And only the Drowned God knows why. 

“I’m not going to wait here while you risk your lives,” he says, clearing his throat when his voice threatens to give out. This time it’s Jory who offers him another bottle, water now. Jon reaches out, his movements like an old man’s. It’s embarrassing, really. He drinks, eyes firmly on Theon. It’s him he needs to convince, him he  _ wants _ to convince. And to convince him Jon knows he should be a lot better than he is.

“It’s too dangerous, Jon, don’t you see that?” Theon shakes his head. “You don’t have any defense, you are weak - even for a human you’re weak now, after all of this. Do you think I could fight in my right mind, knowing that you’re not safe, that you’re in danger?”

And there it is, the cue Jon has been hoping for. He’s again feeling fuzzy and too hot, like he’s floating, but for this he knows exactly what to do. He smiles. “I don’t want you to fight either. Any of you, really.” Jon looks over at Robb’s open face. “I’m sorry, Robb? You seem so strong, I think you could hold out for a while. Not against Euron in the end. But maybe until we’re safely gone? I don’t want anyone to fight.”

“We have to, love. And I won’t let the Wolves fight alone.” Theon’s voice is shaking, desperate now. Jon’s heart hurts to hear it. But he’s determined to do this, there is no way he’ll lose Theon like this ever again. 

His heart beats too fast, like a flutter of wings, erratic and out of rhythm. Jon closes his eyes, taking deep breaths, willing his body into submission. This is the last thing he can do, the last thing to help them, to make sure Theon will live. 

“Then I know what we’ll do.” 

Jon whispers it, knowing they’ll hear him. Dizziness envelopes him again, the blood rushing in his ears. His blood, the source of all madness. He doesn’t want it anymore. With his blood gone, the allure gone, Theon could go, Euron wouldn’t stop him. Jon knows what is happening to him. He can feel it already reaching out, can hear its voice call to him. And if it’s going to keep Theon alive, Jon is willing to consider death a friend. 

When he looks at Theon again, Jon smiles. “You will drink my blood, my prince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'd be funny if it wasn't driving me nuts. I'm actually really bad at showdowns - like, the end fight and such. And the next two chapter will contain very much that, first from Robb's then from Asha's POV. I'm frightened of those XD  
> The chapters after that - the last three - are already written and ready. *sigh*


	25. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done!! I'M DONE!!!! Can you believe it? *sob*
> 
> I wrote all the missing chapters today! They're unbeta'd so - if you catch anything grossly wrong or horribly confusing, please do tell!

“I knew you lost your mind somewhere down the road!”

“I know perfectly well what I’m doing!”

“This’ll kill you, you stupid little idiot!”

“I’m sure it won’t, alright? I trust you.”

“But I don’t trust myself! Jon, to gain the strength to actually fight I’d need to drain you entirely!”

“Yes? That’s what I said? It’s my decision, Theon!”

“Ooh, now that you want something I’m Theon again, right? Just now it was ‘My Prince’, you opportunistic imbecile!”

“I am not saying it again, Theon. Drink! My! Blood!”

“Fucking hell, NO!!”

Robb rolls his eyes. The bickering has been going on for quite some time now. He glances over, both have their arms crossed and are glaring at each other, until Theon’s face twitches, becomes sappy and soft. Robb sighs. Here they go again.

“I cannot do it, Jon. I cannot drain the life from your body.”

“You can, Theon. I know you can.”

“I love you, Jon. Please don’t insist on this.”

“If you really love me, you’ll respect my choice.”

“Oh Drowned fucking God, I didn't know you hit your head that hard. Have you lost your mind??”

Robb can’t contain a groan as they descend into another round of exactly the same things they’ve said just before. Curious, he didn’t think this cousin of his would have that much fire. Must be the half of him that’s dragon.

He’s really pretty, Robb muses. Of course it’s his blood, Robb can still feel it singing in his veins, compelling him to go over and just sink his teeth into that beautiful flushed skin. But he’s no animal, he can contain himself. Maester Luwin really should’ve given him more credit.

Robb watches his cousin’s lips as he raves at Theon, the red in his cheeks, the way a curl falls into his forehead. But he also sees the uncountable scars littering Jon’s skin, the way he shifts every so often, clearly hurting the way he sits. He feels sick when he thinks of someone destroying a defenseless human like that, just for fun. Just for his beauty. Just for his blood.

He hopes he can get to this Euron himself, can slice him open like a gutted fish, can watch the light in his eyes vanish as he dies. Robb shakes his head. He’s never been a violent person, but now it’s all he can think of - hurting the man who hurt Jon.

“Nephew.”

Oh great. Robb sighs. Now the priest has to meddle in the conversation too. They’ll never get anything done this way. But what the priest has to say nearly sends Robb into shock.

“Nephew, he’s dying.”

Robb can see Theon looking at his uncle, eyes wide and showing the same shock Robb feels. Dying? Jon? This cannot be possible. But a closer look at Jon shows that the flush on his face is from more than from shouting at Theon, there’s a feverish glow in his eyes, and Robb closes his own eyes and concentrates.

No one’s speaking at the moment, and one after one Robb picks out their heartbeats. Jory’s, strong and unmistakably human, though it holds no appeal. The priest’s, steady and soft, a quiet thrumming. Theon’s, fast and loud, an anxious sound. And Jon’s. Faltering.

“This isn’t true,” Theon finally whispers, looking at Jon. “You’ll be fine, love, I know you’ll be fine.”

Jon just shakes his head, a sad smile on his face now. “I can feel it, Theon. I won’t make it anyway. And I want to make sure you’ll have the strength you need to get away from here, away from Euron.”

Theon makes a sound, a broken, awful cry that has Robb on his feet. “Wait, wait! There is a possibility. Something that can save Jon, even after you drank his blood.”

Theon’s eyes are glittering murderously as he turns to Robb, his teeth are bared. “You. Cannot. Mean it.” He balls his hands into fists, and if Jeyne’s blood weren’t in his system, making him stronger than ever, Robb would’ve stepped back from the rage in Theon’s eyes. “I am NOT going to risk it.”

“And why not, nephew.” The priest’s voice sounds dispassionate. “He’s dying. If he dies from blood loss, from his heart giving out by itself, or from a failed turning - the outcome is the same.”

“It’d be painful,” Theon mumbles. “He could turn into something… else… like the Freys.”

Robb watches as Jon softly touches Theon’s leg, watches as Theon immediately crouches down next to him. “Painful, you say?” Jon’s voice sounds as if he’s repressing a chuckle. “That’d be something new for me.”

“He won’t turn into anything else than a blood drinker or a dead human.” Theon winces at that. Robb does too. The priest raises an eyebrow. “We’re three of us here, three who can do it.”

“Theon does it,” Jon says stubbornly. “I trust him.” He looks at Theon again and something shifts in his face, it becomes so unbearably pretty Robb has to use all his strength to not leap at him immediately. He can see how strongly it affects Theon as well. “Please, Theon. Love me one more time.”

Someone touches his elbow, and Robb looks at the priest standing next to him. “Let’s get outside. The sleeping draught I’ve given Euron will wear off soon enough and I don’t want my back to a cave wall when he finds the boy gone.”

***

The dirk at Robb’s throat is cold, the metal biting into his skin. They have been on them the moment they’ve climbed out of the sea, trying to catch their breath. Robb doesn’t see his attacker, can only smell them. They’re strong, very strong. A blood drinker. A Kraken.

“I’ll slice you up like a ham,” hisses a voice in his ear. “What have you done to my brother and his pet?”

“Cut it out, Asha,” Theon coughs from somewhere. “The Wolf has come to help us commit avunculicide. Release him before he starts howling.”

The dirk is gone and Robb quickly steps away, then turns back. The woman is grinning at him, looking so much like Theon it’s astonishing. “Well, for a Wolf you’re quite cute,” she flutes, then her voice hardens. “Thank fuck you finally decided to show your pathetic arses. I already thought I’d have to take on the whole castle of madmen alone.”

Robb cannot contain an appreciative smile. That woman's got fire.

“The Dragon?” Theon asks, and Robb pricks up his ears. What dragon? Asha shrugs. “On her way, at least that’s what she said.” She? Robb’s confusion heightens, but he shoves the thought aside. They have stuff to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, what now? All at once? Daily updates? Or back to twice a week for the next two and a half weeks?


	26. Asha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Ash is simultaneously fun and hard. Dunno why. I like her a lot.

It’s a shame that Euron’s men are upon them the second they’ve stepped foot on the drawbridge in the outer castle, and while usually Asha likes to bury her axe in some idiot, this time it’s different. They should be her men, and yet they aren’t and she’s killing them. Ironborn. Good men. Good men who picked the wrong side. 

It’s also a shame that she doesn’t have more time watching that gorgeous Wolf, and he really is remarkable. He’s wielding a sword nearly as tall as him with an ease that’s stunning, a grace to his movements where others are simply hacking and hammering. 

Asha dodges a sword while observing him cutting down men like bushels of wheat, a fierce smile on his face. He looks like a cute - albeit blood-soaked - boy and she really hopes he’ll survive. Looks very much like it at the moment. 

Euron is nowhere to be seen, which does worry Asha quite a bit, since Theon and his pet are still down at the beach with Aeron and the white wolf. The beast seems to have taken a liking to the human boy, it hasn’t left his side since the moment they laid eyes on each other. Figures, Asha thinks, the boy is half Wolf after all. 

There are more men than there should be. Wave after wave crashes against them, and they’re only three, their position at the bridge is good to defend, but the onslaught of enemies won’t stop and they cannot hold out forever. Why are there so many men? 

Her axe slices through a man’s throat, his face contorted in a last scream, and Asha pauses. She doesn’t know this man. A look around confirms it. She doesn’t know a lot of them. One stumbles right at her feet and she rips his head back, her axeblade at his throat.

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Sellsword…” the man grits, “On order of the King.”

Huh, Asha thinks and slams the man’s head into her axe, dropping his twitching body before hacking at the next. Why would the king give Euron sellswords? Yes, according to Victarion’s log there was some kind of pact between Krakens and Lions, but sellswords?

Unless, she thinks, swerving around a severed arm flying her way, unless he really went and got himself a lioness. The thought makes her shudder. Whatever abnormity sprouting from such a union - she’d rather not know. 

There’s too many. She’s getting tired. She can still hold out a while longer, but not forever. Now would be a rather good moment for an attack from the sky, Asha ponders grumpily. Daenerys is taking her sweet time, really. If she’s coming at all. 

As if to chastise her for the blasphemy of that thought there’s an almighty roar that shakes the stones they stand on. For a moment they all pause, looking up as one, all the Ironborn, the Wolves, the sellswords, and Asha. At first there’s nothing, but then there is a shriek and then heat, noise like thunder, more heat and so many screams Asha forgets she’s not afraid and covers her ears, crouching down against the wall. 

When she looks up again there are no men. Just piles of ashes and blackened bones lying across the gap where the drawbridge had been. She looks down onto the cliffs where the sea is already greedily swallowing more bones. Another look at the opposite castle has Asha groan. It’s almost reduced to rubble, stones melted by incredible heat. And atop of that sits a dragon, the big one, Daenerys' favourite. And Daenerys on his back, a slight smile on her face. “Am I late?” she calls. Anger surges through Asha and has her nearly jumping the gap just so she can get her hands around that beautiful white neck. 

“WAS IT REALLY NECESSARY TO SMASH MY CASTLE??” 

Daenerys’ silvery peal of laughter wafts over. “You have three. Surely this one isn’t such a loss?” 

Besides her someone groans and Asha looks over guiltily. She’s completely forgotten about the Wolves. The human one is still out cold, but the gorgeous redhead is sitting up, staring straight ahead. “Am I having visions?” he asks, his voice hoarse and incredulous. “There’s a dragon sitting over there.”

“Two, actually,” Asha remarks sourly. “And one of them will get an earful as soon as I can get my hands on her.

The Wolf smiles confusedly, then looks around. “Wow. That solved all our problems, huh? Was your uncle in that castle? I haven’t seen anyone fitting his description.”

It’s like an ice-cold squall of water down Asha’s back. 

_ Where is Euron? _


	27. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Climactic scene, anyone? I told you I suck at them, and this is no exception. But... here it is.

“Jon, I can’t. Everything in me recoils from the thought of doing that to you.”

Theon wants to shake Jon, wants to rattle him back and forth until every one of those thoughts has fallen from his head. He knows it’s no use, not with Jon looking at him like that, determined and fierce.

He’ll have to do it.

Jon’s hands reach out, they tangle in Theon’s hair and pull him down against Jon’s lips. And there, beneath the sweetness of Jon’s mouth, Theon can taste the fever, can taste the life slipping away. They have no choice.

With a near scream he breaks away, kissing every inch of Jon’s face, whispering into his ear, “I love you,” and sinks his teeth into Jon’s neck. His hands are roaming over Jon’s arms, his chest, up his back and down again, while he drinks and drinks and drinks, and hates himself for how good it is.

Jon is moaning, Theon can feel the sound vibrating through both their bodies. This is the pleasurable part, normally made even more agreeable through sex. None of that now, although Theon can feel himself harden, he pays it no mind, focuses only on drinking, and the beats of Jon’s heart.

They get slower. Every second beat is missing. He’ll have to stop soon. And suddenly Jon is stiffening in his arms, he whispers one word. “Euron.” Before Theon can react, can stop, can do anything at all, Aeron is there, Theon can hear him shouting something he doesn’t understand.

He closes his eyes and concentrates once more, they have to finish this or all is lost. Jon’s heartbeat starts to miss more beats, it jolts and fails and picks up again. Now is the right time. But still Theon cannot help but glance over his shoulder, at Aeron and a wall of water that separates them from Euron.

“Stop gaping like an idiot, nephew!” Aeron’s voice is strained, shaking. “Finish this, I cannot hold much longer!”  

Theon looks back at Jon, pale as death itself. The next part is the hardest. He takes Jon’s arm, turns it and kisses the point where his pulse flutters faintly beneath the skin. One heartbeat. Silence.

“Just this now, love, one last step,” he whispers, not knowing if Jon can still hear him. His eyes are closed and he looks already gone. Fear grips Theon’s heart as he bites down as gently as he can on Jon’s arm, lingering, giving his venom time to float Jon’s veins.

There, that should do.

He presses the wound against Jon’s mouth, gently forcing it open. “Drink.” To get it done, Jon must drink the last drop from his body, must draw his own blood mixed with blood drinker venom, must be the one to stop his own heart.

At first Jon doesn’t react, but when Theon stifles a sob, Jon’s eyelids flutter, his lips close around the wound and he starts drawing blood. At first it’s weak, not much that he drinks, but soon his sucking becomes harder, hard enough for Theon to hope.

A heartbeat. Another. Another. Too many too count, too fast, too urgent.

Jon breathes heavily, his eyes open for a moment, unseeing, then they roll back in his head and his heart trips again. Stops.

Silence.

Theon crawls back from Jon’s still form, now it’s entirely up to the Gods. He stands, his whole body brimming with energy, with barely contained power. He hasn’t felt this strong ever before in his whole life.

The moment he turns to face what’s behind him, the wall of water tumbles down, taking Aeron with him, and Theon watches as he disappears in the waves. He wants to jump, to dive and get him, but then Euron is upon him.

It’s like being hit by a rock, the force with which Euron crashes into him, but for once Theon can stand it, can hold out against the raw force. Euron growls, a wonderful sound to Theon’s ears, he laughs out loud and slams his head in his uncle’s face.

It feels so good - it is over so quickly. Euron is stronger still. Euron cannot be bested. Not even with Jon’s life rushing through Theon’s system, not even with ten men’s strength. Theon wants to scream, to cry, to curse the Drowned God and all Gods who may listen. He’ll lose, and they will die. Jon will die, if he hasn’t died.

Euron’s face is terrifying in triumph, he bares his teeth in a cruel laugh. And stops. Glances right to where Asha has appeared, to where before was Euron’s arms is now nothing. Euron’s lips stretch in the most horrifying scream Theon has ever heard.

Then Robb’s sword is there, slicing through Euron like a hot knife through butter. Euron still stands. Theon grins. There’s his chance - but then a small noise behind him makes him jolt around. Jon has moved.

Euron forgotten, Theon races back, to Jon’s side, falls down beside him and takes his hands. So cold, the fever gone. Jon is shaking, the pain must be unbearable. “Look at me,” Theon urges, “Jon, keep looking at me.” Jon’s eyes are open, unfocused at first but now they zero in on Theon’s, holding his gaze. There’s pure terror in Jon’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry.”

Jon’s eyes fall shut, the horrible convulsions stop. It’s over. Jon should wake up now. Theon waits. Jon doesn’t move. Theon feels cold as snow. What’s wrong?

He knows when he hears the beast, the white wolf, the one that’s been hovering around them since Robb had introduced them. The other wolf is still at the boat, guarding a woman Theon doesn’t know.

And now the white wolf is advancing on Euron, and Jon is so still. Theon leans down, holding him tight against his chest, and prays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begone, Euron! It has been fun but the villain has to die. 
> 
> If anyone's wondering, Aeron is fine. That guy can swim like a fish and let's be real, I like that one way too much in here to kill him off.


	28. Jon(Ghost)/Euron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! This contains the last Euron POV - oh my I'll miss that glorious madman!!!

It cannot even be called pain anymore. This is something else, something more. He’s breaking apart into millions of tiny pieces, and every one of them is burning. His name, his self, all threads are snapped and gone, and all there is is agony.

Somehow, somewhere in the mist of white-hot glow, there’s Theon. The only thing still there, eyes pale blue and shining. An anchor. A focus. He hears a name, a name he doesn’t recognise any longer, but he know this. Knows Theon. Theon’s voice.

“Look at me. Jon, keep looking at me.”

How long, how long will it take, how bad will it get, will there be anything left of him? It gets worse. He focuses on Theon, on Theon’s voice, louder now, a strange edge to it he hasn’t ever heard before. A timbre that he instinctively knows has been there all along, but now he hears. He looks into Theon’s eyes, mesmerized by the new colours he sees, by the myriads of shades. Blue isn’t covering it anymore.

And then it snaps, he arches off the ground and into a void, and the only thing he now knows is the absence of pain. A first, for a long time. He’s alone he thinks, until he becomes aware of another one there, another soul. He doesn’t know him, whoever he is. But he can hear him.

_Child. Wolf. White wolf. Brother._

Curious, he reaches out, not seeing his arm as he does so, but feeling it when he touches the light of whatever it is here with him. Warmth runs through his senses, images of a large, white wolf appearing in him. He’s one of them.

So beautiful. So strong. _Mine._ Yes, that too. He laughs, it’s so easy. They can become one, here in this nothing, and he can feel again, run again. He can kill.

This is soft, not painful at all, just a merging of kindred spirits. He can feel a smile on his face, even though there’s no face here in this, and he closes his eyes he doesn’t have and lets the Wolf take control.

_He growls. He prowls. He stalks. Finds him. Left. Lady. Right. Wolf. Holding. Coil. Jump. Open. Tear. Prey. Blood. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate._

*******

Drowning is a beautiful death. He wishes he were drowning in the sea, not in his own blood, flooding his windpipe from the hole torn into his throat by the beast. By Jon. The snarling snout is still in his face, chaps pulled back to reveal long sharp canines, with Euron’s own blood staining them.

But the eyes are Jon’s. The hatred in them is Jon’s.

Pity, Euron thinks as his vision dims, that he’s not going to see those eyes darken with love and pain ever again. A pity… nay, a blessing. It’s good this is the last he sees of his boy, the last he’ll know of the deep, deep lust that’s driving him even now, stemming from the memories.

Of his scent, of his mouth, of his eyes. Of his warm, delicious body.

There’s no scent now, just the sharp smell of the predator, with a hint of his own kin. No human lingering underneath, and Euron understands. He laughs, or tries to, producing a horrifying, glorious sound when blood spills from the wound and into the wound, staining the white fur in front of him.

A heavy paw on his chest keeps him down, claws digging into his flesh, a growl sends him into another fit of gargling laughter. He did it. Theon really did it, and now that he knows what he’s looking for Euron can smell him behind the animal, behind the new blood drinker.

Not bad, nephew, he thinks, not bad.

He wouldn’t have risked it. Turning Jon and losing him. Turning Jon and risk him becoming something else. Turning Jon and have a creature like himself and, while unable to ever match him in strength - it took both his niece and that Wolf boy to get to him, for the beast to have the chance to pounce - he’d still be more dangerous than his human doll.

For once Theon proves to be the more daring man.

A part of Euron wants to clap his nephew’s back, with an arm not there anymore, congratulate him for finally growing a pair of balls. A different part wants to rip his limbs off with his bare hands for the audacity, for handling Euron’s toy. Euron’s toy… not anymore.

He’s dying, he knows he is. It takes a long time, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe days. A lifetime. A lifetime of power and blood, a lifetime of Jon. There’s no thought in his mind now, not a single one that doesn’t wrap around Jon. Jon, Jon, Jon. A symphony.

The closest he ever came to caring. It must be death sitting upon his shoulder to whisper these strange notions into his ear, Euron is sure. Death whispers of love, and loss, of joy, and sorrow. Euron doesn’t know sorrow, nor love.

But Jon was his joy.

Darkness settles quick now, his body numb and stiff. His eyes are open but he can’t see Jon’s eyes anymore, Jon’s eyes in the face of the beast. His hearing still works for some reason. He can hear his niece and his nephew, discussing what to do with his corpse. Can hear the soft growls of the wolf, maybe two, can hear the dragons screeching somewhere above.

He can hear the sea.

And Jon.

“Give him to the sea.”

Ah, yes. His sweet, wonderful boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think the transformation reads like a poor copy of the one in Twilight - you're probably right. I tried not to, really!


	29. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aand the last Jon POV!

He watches as the canvas containing Euron’s body is swallowed by the waves, hears Damphair say the ritual words, feeling a lot less than he’d thought he would. He’d insisted on it, much to everyone’s confusion. They all think Euron doesn’t deserve it, should be left out on top of the highest tower to rot, food for the birds. Jon stayed firm. It’s Euron’s Jon he’s burying here today.

The decision had been easy, to keep this name, Jon, despite what it means now, despite it being Euron’s mark on him - Jon couldn’t ever be Aegon. He’s been Jon for too long, has been Jon for Theon, has met Robb and Daenerys as Jon. It’s an exhilarating thought, that now he’s able to fill the name with new meaning. And Euron’s marks are all over him anyway. As if he could ever forget him.

A glittering on the waves catches Jon’s attention, a whiff of human from where the girl is waiting with the wolves. It’s still new, all of this, his senses enhanced, the thirst lingering in his throat. Robb told him it’ll get better soon, bearable. Jon sighs. He’s not sure if he wants to live like them, to never drink blood… Theon’s always seemed to enjoy it, but something in Jon reels back from the thought.

Nothing much has changed as to how he feels, Jon was astonished to notice. Better senses, yes. Thirst, yes. His wounds have healed, leaving scars in their wake, faded but still there. He feels stronger, has more energy. He isn’t cold anymore. A warm hand slips into his and Jon turns his head to smile at Daenerys. She always feels warm to him. Robb is standing at her other side, looking over her head at Jon every other moment with a fond expression.

His family.

Jon looks to the left, at Theon standing there, an arm’s length away. His eyes are firmly trained on the waves, his mouth pulled down. He’s still beautiful, even to Jon’s new senses. How he wants to breach the gap, close the distance between them! He can’t, not now.

Jon knows he’s got a decision to make, and soon. He knows what they all want. Daenerys wants him to come to Meereen with her, live in a strange land of sun and heat. And a part of Jon longs to go, to stay with the dragons, especially Rhaegal, the one Daenerys named after her brother. Jon's father. He smiles at the thought of Meeting Rhaegal. Jon hadn't even been scared, it had felt natural to just pet the huge animal's snout. And Rhaegal had been as sweet as a kitten.

Robb wants Jon to go north with him, meet his father, see the castle Jon’s mother grew up in. Now with the scent gone from Jon, Robb is much more relaxed around him, and Jon would love to see Winterfell, to meet his uncle. Keep Ghost. He cannot give up Ghost, now that he knows how it is, being one with another being like that - Ghost is his. Or the other way round.

And Theon - Theon just wants. He’s told Jon as much, that he wants many things, for Jon. For him to be happy. For him to do as he wishes. But Jon knows he just wants him to stay, even if he’d never say it out loud. And staying - that’s the one thing Jon cannot do. Theon knows that. He hasn't tried to persuade Jon, talk him into anything. He hasn't touched him since Jon came back from Ghost's mind. Not once, and Jon is longing for it, the familiar feeling of being wrapped up in him.

Leaving Theon behind after everything feels wrong. Theon, who loves Jon, who fought for him, who took his life and gave him this new one. Theon, whom Jon thinks he could love so much, in time. He’s halfway there, has been for a while. Leaving Theon would be leaving his own heart behind. But leave he must. And Theon cannot. He’s not the Prince of Pyke anymore, he’s the King now. And what is a king without his kingdom? A fish out of water, a shark on a mountaintop. And Jon could never ask him to give it all up. Would he even want to? Now that the allure of Jon’s blood is gone, now that Jon is the same as him, not some strange and fascinating human?

Daenerys’ small hand squeezes Jon’s and he reluctantly tears his gaze from Theon, onto the sea. The canvas is gone. Euron is gone, and Jon hasn’t even spared a last thought for him. Daenerys’ grip on his hand is strong, she’s the strongest person Jon has ever met, except Lady Asha maybe. She surprised him very much. Before she'd never shown any interest in him at all, and then she crosses the Narrow Sea for him? Jon knows it wasn't, not really. For Theon, yes. Because of Euron. But when he came to she'd been there too, together with Theon and Robb, Daenerys waiting behind them.

“Welcome to your new life,” she'd said, and boxed his arm so hard he'd yelped. And then she'd grabbed a handful of Robb's butt and without much further ado dragged him away. Leaving him with Theon who wouldn't let go, until Daenerys had stepped up behind him. Jon had been struck by something, a memory maybe, the moment her warm hand touched his. “It's good to see you again, Aegon,” she'd said, and of course he remembered her.

He'd shaken his head, _not Aegon_ , he'd said. _I'm Jon_.

No, Daenerys doesn’t need him.

Robb stands strong too, tall and broad-shouldered, so sure in himself. Robb doesn’t need Jon either. But what he’s said of his father - Jon’s uncle - makes Jon want to go and see him, see if there’s something he could do to ease the pain of his mother’s demise from Lord Eddard’s mind. See her mother's statue in the crypt, even if her body never lay there. Run the Woods with Ghost and Robb and Grey Wind. See the summer snows. Take a soak in those hot pools Robb has told them about, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively in the women's direction.

And if he goes north, Theon could visit more easily. Yes, Jon thinks. He’ll go north.

He tells them his decision over dinner. As expected, Daenerys is disappointed, but Jon knows she’ll be fine without him. Her Hand is resting on Robb’s thigh - however that came to be - which tells Jon he might see her again soon anyway. Robb is ecstatic with joy, which could be atributed to Jon's decision, or Asha's hand on his other thigh. Jon cannot help a grin. Asha, Daenerys, and that other girl, Jeyne is her name. Robb hasn't said much about her, but a bond has been formed, and she'll go with them to Winterfell.   

“I cannot wait for you to meet Father.” Robb laughs. “He’ll be beside himself.”

Theon doesn’t say anything. He just smiles at Jon, sadness and understanding in his eyes. Jon’s chest tightens every time he looks at him. And yet he's still so far away.

That night Jon cannot sleep, so he wanders the castle, until he finds him. Theon still doesn’t say a word, he just opens his arms and Jon steps into them without hesitation. It’s a different embrace than any they shared before, not one between master and slave, prince and subject, god and mortal, predator and prey. This time they’re equal.

“I wish you well, Jon,” Theon finally says. “I wish you everything your heart desires. Everything you want is waiting for you, family, friends, love. I hope you find someone... if you want to, someone who you can love, someone who's deserving of it.”

“Come with me,” Jon blurts out. Even though he knows there’s no hope - he has to try. “Come north with me!”

Theon’s arms tighten around Jon, he buries his face in Jon’s hair. He doesn’t answer, and for Jon that is answer enough. Closing his eyes, Jon lets himself feel like this for one more time, once more safe in those arms, once more held by someone truly loving him.

***

Robb and Jory and the wolves are waiting for him at the boat, but Jon lingers. He’s said his goodbyes to Lady Asha and Damphair, to Daenerys who will stay on Pyke for a little while longer. She’s promised to visit Winterfell soon. Theon isn't around anywhere. Maybe he doesn't want to see Jon leave.

The farewell from Pyke itself isn’t hard, not like Jon had thought it would be. He roams the castle one last time, looks at all the places he’s been at, bled at, wept at. In the throne room Jon automatically looks for _him,_ despite knowing he cannot be there, he's dead and gone and will never lay eyes on Jon again. Still... He was a part of his life, was his life for a long time. Years, really. He'll never get rid of this shadow. He saves Theon’s chambers for last, the only place where he’s been something close to happy in this dreadful place. Theon isn’t there either.

Something wet nudges at Jon’s hand and he looks down to see Ghost. He gives Jon’s hand another bump with his nose, then growls softly.

“I’m coming,” Jon says.

When reaching the edge of the cliffs, Jon suddenly stops short. Because of course there he is, waiting at the boat, standing next to Robb with that smile Jon hasn’t seen in a long time. He’s holding a large satchel, is dressed in his warmest cloak - Jon’s feet gain speed, faster and faster until he’s running down the steep path, crashing right into Theon’s arms.

A fleeting thought of another time, a similar haste, an entirely different pair of arms dissolves quickly when Theon pulls him close.

“I'm coming with you, Jon. I can't bear to stay without you. We can be friends, now that I can control myself around you, I swear I'm not expecting anything of you. Just... please let me stay in your life.”

Jon pulls back to look at him, frowning in confusion. What on... And then it hits. Theon thinks... Theon doesn't know - Jon starts laughing, catching Theon's collar and pulling him down against his mouth, the sweet, familiar taste of his lips so good Jon laughs again, right against Theon's skin. “You're an idiot, my prince,” Jon mumbles, “if you think it's your friendship I want. You're coming with me and you're going to be with me and make love to me and fight me until we get sick of it and start over again.”

“As long as you want me,” is Theon's answer, “I’m yours.”  

Possibly forever then. Jon smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna post the epilogue right after this :)


	30. Asha (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done. Omg omg it's really done!!!

Angrily, Asha kicks one of the large boulders still littering the yard of the inner castle. It’s been ten months since Daenerys’ children have caused havoc here, and there’s still an awful lot of stuff to do, to fix, to rebuild. Asha’s mood doesn’t improve when her gaze falls on the gap between the inner castle and the next. Still no new drawbridge, and for what? The stones over there are melted and black, not fit to live in.

She sighs. The state the castles are in is not the only reason for her abominable mood. She hates to acknowledge it, even to herself, but she misses her baby brother. His smile and his jokes and even his idiocy. Being queen is no fun when there’s nobody to badger with being queen. 

As if missing another person, and a relative at that, isn’t bad enough, there’s something else. She’s seen the way that gorgeous Wolf and Daenerys have looked at each other, and has heard her promise to visit Winterfell. She did not promise to visit Pyke. 

Before she can start banging her head against some stone to get those ridiculous, childish thoughts out of her head, one of the men approaches her, two scrolls in his hand. Glad for the distraction she opens the first, recognizing her brother’s writing. 

_ Dear Asha, _

_ North is still cold and dreary but I’ll finally get warm once the feast happens, the Wolves will at least serve their  _ other  _ guests properly. And yes, Jon’s still refusing to drink any blood. He gets more like them (that is, pig-headed) by the day. Training, training, training, sometimes I think he’ll take his fucking sword to bed, I swear.   _

_ Still, I’d rather have the sword than the bloody dragon. Turns out they don’t like me too much, not even the green one. It has tried to eat me on several occasions now. Jon thinks it’s hilarious and tenderly scolds it, like a naughty child. _

_ And I have to confess it’s kind of hard watching Jon climb that beast without getting a near heart attack every time. I still see the fragile human boy for a moment whenever I look at him. Well - at least the wolf likes me, says Jon, and hey, it didn’t try to eat me yet. _

_ I reckon you already got the invitation? Lord Eddard has invited half the North, there’ll be an awful lot of Wolves and Trouts, even the Stags are coming. All to celebrate his nephew’s bonding ceremony. He’s so smitten with Jon it’s getting ridiculous. He really must look like his mother a lot. Well, at least Lord Eddard has stopped addressing him as Lyanna all the time, and he’s spoiling him rotten. Not that I don’t approve of that, but I have to confess I’m a little jealous.  _

_ Lady Stark still hasn’t warmed to me, but I intend to change that by making myself invaluable once she gives birth to the next little Wolf. Should happen any moment now, we’re all holding our breaths.  _

_ You absolutely HAVE to come. Daenerys specifically asked for you and I need someone sarcastic there to keep me from sobbing when I kiss Jon under that weird tree. Father would be so proud… _

_ It’ll be strange, not seeing Jon blush on such an occasion, but I’m quite used to it by now. He’s still unbearably beautiful with his perfect, pale skin and his rosebud mouth and those incredible eyes. Look at that, I’m rambling again. Robb said he’ll sew my mouth shut if I don’t stop my, I quote, ‘embarrassing lovebird twittering’. Jon doesn’t seem to mind though, and I’m unable to help it as it is.  _

_ Right, Daenerys! Just a quick heads up so you don’t get the shock of your life. You know how she always calls those ghastly beasts her children? Well, they’re about to have a baby brother or sister. A human sibling, I mean. Maester Luwin wasn’t thrilled at all, goes around mumbling how another Dragon-Wolf-Hybrid is the last thing we need. He’d get along famously with Aeron. _

_ I know, I know. He’s right, but Robb is so happy! He’s looking forward to your arrival too, to my knowledge they’re preparing a chamber next to theirs for you and I am very glad Jon and my rooms are very far away. As are you, I am sure, Jon is surprisingly vocal when bossing me around. Apologies. _

_ Give our regards to Aeron, Jon said he’s invited as well but knowing our uncle he won’t leave Pyke, and if we pay him for it.  _

_ xx _

_ Theon _

_ Can you bring my good tunic along please? I have no idea what the fuck I was thinking to forget it when I was packing! It’s the long, black velvet one, covered in those little krakens. Thank you! _

Grinning, Asha shakes her head while opening the second scroll. 

**_Lord Eddard of the Wolves_ **

**_invites for his nephew_ **

**_Jon, Son of Rhaegar the Dragon and Lyanna the Wolf_ **

**_with_ **

**_Theon of the Krakens_ **

_**The ceremony is to take place on the first new moon after the harvest in Winterfell.** _

Very well, Asha thinks as she puts both scrolls into her pocket, let’s start searching for that tunic. 

***

_ The Fall of Pyke - A War of Fire, Water and Ice _

_ by Archmaester Samwell _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all of you readers for your kudos and comments and patience in the last weeks. 
> 
> Especially dear half_life - you're a true inspiration and you made me discover Euron. Thank you!!
> 
> I do have a vague idea of what to do next as a long story - and if any of you guys want to see some specific things or tropes or scenarios, just hit me in the comments or come say hi on tumblr (owlsinathens) :)
> 
> Noooo Euron in the next au tho - I need fluffy. Funny. Sexy. Theon and Jon without any other people-obstacles (tho not without obstacles in general, that'd be dull)!

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a (slightly changed) quote by Octavio Paz.


End file.
